


Dreaming On Your Feet

by Bellexandra



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Mentions of Lyria, Physical Pain, Throne of Glass, dance, mentions of Sam - Freeform, rowaelin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2018-11-29 05:33:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 58,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11434200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellexandra/pseuds/Bellexandra
Summary: Aelin is one of the newest company members of the Rifthold Ballet Theatre, and she is eager to make all of her dreams a reality. She has the talent, the ambition, the walls no one can get past, and the thick skin that no one can get under.Except for new principal dancer Rowan Whitethorn.He's arrogant, talented, and infuriating - and they just might have more in common than they think. . .A Throne of Glass AU set in the world of a ballet company





	1. First Day

It began like any other day at the studio.

Aelin’s nimble, practiced fingers twisted the last section of hair and pinned it up into place into the rest of her bun.

She looked at her handiwork in the mirror.

Except today was the farthest from “any other day.”

It was her first day as a full-fledged company member of the Rifthold Ballet Theatre.

She had worked her entire life for today.  All the hard work, excruciating pain, blood, sweat, and blisters had earned her a place in the company.

Aelin look at her eyes in the mirror, turquoise-blue with an inner ring of gold, expertly lined with black eyeliner.  She spoke to her reflection the words that had become a sort of lifeline for her, ever since –

“I will not be afraid,” she said, quietly but firmly.  She slung her bag over her shoulder and strode out of the dressing room toward the studio.

* * *

Aelin’s heart pounded when she entered the studio.  She had used this studio for class and rehearsals when she was with the apprentice company, but this time was so much different.

She scanned the room looking for a place at the barre.  She had had her pick of spots when she was with the apprentice company, but now. . .

There were _principal dancers_ here.  Dancers she had watched, studied, and idolized from a very young age.  They always stood in the same spots together, like a pack.

 _A pack of wolves_ , Aelin thought with a nervous swallow. She was the rookie, the new girl; the one to be looked down upon.

And underestimated.

A totally different thought clanged through her.

_I belong here._

If she had been chosen, then she had deserved it. And no one could take that away from her, not even higher-ranking dancers.

And since today was her first day, she would be sure to make an impression.

“Aelin!”

She smiled when she saw Aedion get up from rolling out his quads to head straight for her, lifting her in a bone-crushing hug.  He was her cousin, and they had both been brought up at the same studio.  Aedion was now in his second season as a soloist, and he always had a fantastic attitude, matched by his work ethic.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said with a grin, setting her down. “Took you long enough.”

“I think you mean, ‘took _them_ long enough’?” Aelin shot back.

Aedion held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. “Hey, if it was my call, you’d have been here at least a year ago after that piece Chaol choreographed for you guys.  Seriously, you were _amazing_ in it.”

Aelin shifted her weight, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “It was a great piece,” she said, hoping her cousin picked up on her hint to end the conversation about Chaol.

Luckily, he did. “I saved you a spot, if you’re okay standing over here,” he said, leading her to a barre near the piano.  A lump formed in Aelin’s throat as a memory rose to her chest, of a carefree smile that shone like the black wood of the piano –

The elegant woman sitting beside it, smiling warmly as she stood to greet her, banished the ghost of her memory.

“Nehemia!” Aelin exclaimed, rushing forward to hug her friend.  Nehemia was now in her third year as a soloist, likely to be promoted to principal soon.  She and Aelin had spent a few years in the second company together, but Nehemia had always been a little bit ahead, a little more mature.  In contrast –

“That’s fine, don’t give me a hug.”

Aelin peered over Nehemia’s shoulder to see Lysandra standing at the same barre, her beautiful features contorted into an exaggerated pout.  Nehemia laughed as Aelin broke from her to hug Lysandra.  It was Lysandra’s first year as a company member as well, and Aelin was glad to have a fellow rookie, a friend in the same boat.

Suddenly Aedion moved between them, taking over to hug Lysandra.  Lysandra threw her head back and giggled. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought you meant me,” Aedion said, the twinkle in his eye evident.  He and Lysandra had been dating for two years now, and Aelin was happy to see both of _them_ so happy.

Lysandra smacked him playfully on the arm. “Behave yourself,” she scolded, pointed to the black granite rolling pin that was lying on the floor. “Go back to rolling out.  You were complaining about your quads all break.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Aedion saluted, giving Aelin a wink before plopping back down onto the floor and resuming his roll-out.

Aelin set her bag at the end of the barre, taking the place behind Aedion and across from Nehemia.  She looked at her phone to check the time, and there was a half-hour until class.  She looked over the large, airy studio one more time before popping her headphones into her ears, beginning her pre-class routine.

She laid flat on her back, doing some easy breathing exercises to focus her breath.  Then she moved on to some crunches and planks to engage her core muscles.  She flipped onto her stomach and stretched into a cobra position, before lying on her stomach to do some turnout work.  She finished her routine with some stretches, easing into her splits: right, left, and center.  Shutting off her music and tucking her phone back into her bag, Aelin tied on her pointe shoes before she stood up and did some leg swings.

She heard Nehemia’s voice break into her concentration. “Wow, you’ve really gained some discipline in the past couple of years, haven’t you?” She looked up to see Nehemia smiling at her with approval.

Aelin shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, when it’s all you have. . .”

She trailed off as the studio door opened.  Her head shot up, expecting the ballet mistress to enter and start class. But it wasn’t the ballet mistress.

She recognized her old friend Dorian, who was starting his first season as a principal dancer. But behind him was someone she definitely did _not_ know.

He was a couple of inches taller than Aedion, which made him the tallest male dancer in the room.  Yet despite his height, there was power and strength radiating from him.  His evident muscle was a bit bulkier in comparison to Dorian’s lean gracefulness, but the new guy had a cool elegance about him, as though he could coat the very room in frost if he wished it.

Cool elegance that looked very much like arrogance.

His short, silver hair gleamed in the morning sun that streamed through the wall of the studio that was all windows.  He had brilliant green eyes that seemed to be frosted over, eyes with which he surveyed the studio.  Lines of a tattoo were visible above the collar of his warmup jacket.

Aelin found herself watching him, not even realizing she was holding her breath as his eyes passed over her. They seemed to linger on her for a split second before moving on.

Aelin seethed. He had looked through her as though she were another window on that wall.

“Who is that?” Lysandra whispered to Nehemia as the three of them leaned over their legs that were draped on the barre.

“I think his name is Rowan Whitethorn,” Nehemia answered just as quietly. “He just joined this year as a principal from Doranelle’s company. Rumor has it he wasn’t happy with the way things were being run.”

Aelin had never seen him dance, but she certainly knew that he was the star male of Doranelle Ballet. Something must have really been bad if he left the prestige and renown he had there behind.  But something about him just. . .rubbed her the wrong way. “So Lord Whitethorn decided to go slumming here and grace us all with his presence?” Aelin muttered dryly. “What an honor.”

Nehemia shot her a look. “Aelin, please,” she said.  Dorian and Rowan took up spots at the barre right next to them.  Nehemia turned Aelin’s attention to doorway, where the ballet mistress and accompanist were entering the room. “You’ve only got one chance to make a first impression.”


	2. Impressions

By the end of the hour and 45 minutes of class, Aelin was happily tired. Her muscles were a little stiff after her days of traveling, but the soreness was welcome. After the _grand allegro_ combination, the rest of the company’s eyes all went expectantly to Madame Eudora, the ballet mistress, who now had a small smile on her face. She was a small woman in her sixties who had been a celebrated principal dancer with Rifthold Ballet Theatre for years, but she certainly still carried herself like a dancer. She had black hair that was shot through with strands of silver that brought out her silver eyes.

Lysandra was standing next to Aelin. “Should we be worried?”

There was a touch of wickedness in Eudora’s silver eyes. “It’s a tradition here at RBT that all new company members perform a variation for the rest of the company after their first class,” she explained. “It’s a way for all of us to celebrate how far you have come in order to get here.”

Well, _that_ was a curveball.

Aelin wracked her brain for a variation to perform. It had to be her best –

 “New members, raise your hands, please,” Eudora said. Aelin raised her hand, as did Lysandra.

And, Aelin noticed, so did Rowan Whitethorn.

Aelin had watched Rowan a bit during class, and he was definitely good. He knew how to make use of his tall, strong frame to create elegant lines, and his turning was fantastic, she hated to admit. But there was still an air of untouchability to him that was still off-putting, some kind of pride that Aelin instantly disliked. . .

Eudora gestured to Lysandra. “Your name, dear?”

“Lysandra,” she answered, her voice snapping Aelin out of her thoughts.

“What variation would you like to perform? Don’t worry about obscurity, Jasper here knows everything,” she said, flashing a smile at the pianist, who shared an easy smile with her.

“Swanilda, Act One,” Lysandra replied without hesitation. Aelin grinned at her; Swanilda was one of Lysandra’s favorites. It was simple and flirtatious, yet it allowed for some well-placed flourishes and displays of virtuosity.

Eudora nodded. “Off you go, then.”

Lysandra took her starting place in the back corner of the room as the entire company sat down in the front of the room, in front of the long line of mirrors. Aelin flashed her friend a thumbs-up as the music began.

Lysandra danced well, holding every balance and hitting every multiple turn. She was all smiles as the village maiden Swanilda, and Aelin loved watching her.

When she finished, the company applauded, Aelin and Aedion louder than everyone. Eudora gave her a warm smile. “Lovely, my dear. Swanilda suits you.” Lysandra beamed, and Aelin felt Aedion swell a bit with pride as he sat next to her.

Eudora’s silver eyes sought out the silver hair next. “You are Rowan Whitethorn, yes?” Aelin couldn’t help her curiosity, leaning forward so she could see him at the other end of the line of dancers against the mirror.

“Yes, I am,” he answered, standing up. There were still drops of sweat on his forehead from class, but he stood tall and strong.

“Your variation of choice?” Eudora asked.

“Siegfried, Act Three.”

“Excellent. The ballroom.” Eudora gestured towards the floor. “The floor is yours, Mr. Whitethorn.”

Rowan dipped his head and took his place. He nodded at Jasper, who began to play.

Aelin knew the music, knew the variation.

But the way Rowan Whitethorn danced it. . .

Every jump hung in the air. Every beat of his legs was clean and precise. The end of each pirouette lifted as though with a breath.

He was good.

 _Really_ good.

And rutting hell, Aelin hated him for it even more.

He finished, and the company applauded enthusiastically, with a couple of extra cheers from Dorian. Aelin applauded, too, trying not to be too enthusiastic.

Rowan stood from his final position and took a graceful bow.

As he raised his head again, he looked right at her, the tiniest bit of smugness creeping into his face.

And Aelin knew just what variation she would do.

She didn’t have much time to think about his look when Madame Eudora approached her. “So that means you must be –”

“Aelin Galathynius,” Aelin finished for her, rising from her seated position.

Eudora studied her for a moment. “Your variation, Miss Galathynius?”

“Odile.”

The raised eyebrows and murmurs did not escape Aelin’s notice. It was an incredibly difficult variation, even for a principal. And now a lowly _corps de ballet_ dancer was going to do it?

Aelin kept the corners of her lips from twitching up.

_Yes, she was._

A blink was all the surprise she got from Eudora. “Very well,” she said. “Take your place.”

Aelin walked to the back corner of the room. She extended a leg behind her in a _tendu_ , raising her right arm above her head and her left across her chest in the swan position.

She saw the faces of the company in front of her. Waiting. Watching.

Wondering.

She settled her shoulders and eased into the countenance of Odile, the Black Swan.

Jasper began to play.

And Aelin danced.

\----------

Rowan had watched the golden-haired girl a bit during class, the same way everyone was aware of new blood in the room. Sizing her up when their body positions allowed it, judging her based on the quality of her dancing.

But ultimately, he hadn’t paid that much attention to her, focusing on himself and his own dancing. After what he had gone through a couple of years ago, ballet always kept him grounded.

The scream that always lived inside of him ever since a couple of years ago was carefully, painstakingly channeled into every muscle of his body, escaping through every movement, every toe and fingertip.

When the girl – Aelin, he remembered – had said she was going to do the Black Swan, Rowan had disliked her instantly.  So this was who she was: a first-year _corps de ballet_ dancer who was too ambitious for where she was at.

There were a thousand girls just like her. He’d known some of them back in Doranelle.

She took her starting position in the corner and surveyed the faces of everyone who was watching.

Her eyes met his for a brief moment, and something about her whole demeanor shifted as she settled into her interpretation of Odile’s character.

She was not afraid, Rowan realized.

Far from it.

And as she started to dance, Rowan’s dislike burned even hotter.

 _She was good_.

She nailed the first sequences of pirouettes and attitude turns, finishing each with her arms out gracefully, yet with the command of Odile.  Going into the next phrase, she placed accents on certain, individual notes in the music, catching him a bit off-guard with her unpredictability.

Her _sissonne_ jumps reached full splits, her side extension nearly up to the side of her head, showing off her long legs.  Her double stepovers were effortless.  Her final _piqu_ _é_ turns were quick and sharp, each one carefully measured as she flew in her circle around the room.  Aelin was Odile, and she was every bit as confident and seductive as she was graceful.

She was better than good.

She was _brilliant._

And he hated himself for thinking so.

When she hit her final position, the studio burst into applause, the most enthusiastic coming from the friends of hers that Dorian had pointed out to him. Even Eudora clapped, her smile mischievous.

“On that note, we will end there for today,” Eudora announced. “Thank you, everyone.” The company clapped again, Aelin now included, thanking their teacher for class and Jasper for his accompaniment. They all picked up their bags and began to leave the studio.

Except Aelin, who was suddenly in front of him.

“Excuse me,” she said a bit irritably, her breathing still uneven after her variation.

“I’m sorry?” Rowan asked, irritated by the tone in her voice.

She gestured behind him, where her bag was on the floor.

Oh.

“Sorry,” Rowan said again, willing his face into its mask of impassivity again.

She bent down to put her pointe shoes and lacrosse ball into the bag. Rowan made his way over to his own bag, slinging it over his shoulder and heading for the door.

“Rowan Whitethorn, right?”

Her voice stopped him. He turned slowly to look at her again, only to find that she was making her way to the door, too. “That’s right,” he replied, taking measure of the way she was studying him. “And you’re Aelin Galathynius.”

“That’s right,” she echoed. She tilted her head ever so slightly. “So, Rowan Whitethorn, what do you think?”

Rowan thought for a moment. He had to give her a correction. There was no way he was going to tell this pretentious little _corps_ girl his honest opinion. “Watch your right shoulder in your stepovers. It likes to creep up a bit on your second rotation. And I think your _sissonnes_ can be even bigger. Take advantage of the accented steps.” _Which she pretty much had down_ , he thought to himself. But this was fun – watching her bristle ever so slightly.

Aelin suddenly relaxed, a cool composure radiating from her. “I meant about Rifthold as opposed to Doranelle,” she said with a half-smile, “but I appreciate your advice.” She turned on her heel and headed to the door.

“What did _you_ think?” The words were out before he could stop them. Damn his curiosity.

Aelin paused with her hand on the doorknob. She turned her head to him and gave him a sugary-sweet smile.

“I’ve seen better.”

Before Rowan could even _process_ the sudden anger that slashed through him, Aelin Galathynius had left the studio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know, a variation is the ballet world term for a solo. It's called a variation because there is original choreography, but dancers and choreographers change things here and there, depending on the dancer (hence, there are "variations" of the same solo). Variations are what ballet competitions consist of; they're chances to show your strengths!  
> This is Lysandra's variation, Swanilda from the ballet Coppelia: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IdqAnUpceZs  
> Here are Rowan and Aelin's variations (the coda is just part of the video, but not part of this chapter): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHjnZOuj3t4  
> NOTE: This is not how I physically picture Lysandra, Aelin, and Rowan by any means! I just wanted to show the choreography so you get a sense of the steps :)


	3. Three Weeks In

_Who the rutting hell does he think he is?_

_“Watch your right shoulder, bigger sissonnes, accent your steps,” UGH._

_And the way he keeps watching me in class, like I’m a pebble in his slipper –_

_He’s good. Except I don’t rutting care. Not with that attitude._

_Balance the ends of your pirouettes and land some tours en l’air and you think you’re hot sh –_

“Gods above, Aelin, what did those shoes ever do to you?”

Aelin looked up from her work to see Lysandra walking over, two grande iced coffees in her hands. The two of them had been roommates since joining the second company, and when they had been promoted, they moved into the apartment complex that was specifically for the Rifthold ballet dancers, still as roommates. It was a fairly new complex, and Aelin liked it a lot. It consisted of four buildings that formed a square, and a spacious courtyard connected them.

Aelin was currently situated in the archway of her building, sitting on the covered concrete. She was in the process of breaking in some new pointe shoes, and she was at the point where she was whacking the shoes on the concrete so they wouldn’t make so much noise in the studio.

But in the archway, and outdoors between buildings, Aelin was the one making a _lot_ of noise at the moment.

She wiped a bead of sweat from her temple and put the shoes in her bag, taking one of the cups from Lysandra’s outstretched hand. Wordlessly, she took a long sip as she stood up, her bag over her shoulder.

Lysandra let out a low whistle. “It’s only been three weeks and you already look like you’re ready to assassinate someone,” she observed as the two started on their way back to their apartment. “And I’m guessing it’s not Kaltain.”

Aelin sighed as they trudged up the stairs. “Must you always be so perceptive?”

“When it comes to my best friend, I have to be,” Lysandra grinned before lowering her voice. “It’s Whitethorn, isn’t it?” she asked as they approached their door – Aelin having already finished her coffee.

Aelin pulled out her key and unlocked the door. When they were both inside, Aelin ungracefully dropped her bag and flopped face-first onto the futon. She spent a moment planked on the cushion before she rolled over onto her back. “I can’t _stand_ him,” she said finally. “The way he’s always studying everyone, the way he always looks at me like a stuck-up prick, everything.”

Lysandra plopped into the cushy recliner that sat off the corner of the futon. “But you’ve only talked to him that one time, right?”

“The time that ended with him giving me corrections.”

“The time that ended with you getting the last word, as you told me. And the damn sassy last word, but I would expect nothing less.”

Aelin couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips at the memory. “The look on his face _was_ priceless.” Her mood soured again. “I’d just love to know what goes through that head during class.”

Lysandra tilted her head. “In general?” she asked. “Or when he’s watching you?”

“You know, forget it.” Aelin pushed herself up into a seating position, lightly hugging one knee to her chest. “It’s probably nothing that I haven’t heard or been called before.”

“Your confidence really does amaze me sometimes.”

Aelin smiled at her friend, but she wasn’t about to admit that even _her_ walls had cracks.

“And you’re going to need it next week.”

Now she was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“You looked at the schedule, didn’t you?” When Aelin didn’t answer, Lysandra pulled out her phone, bringing up her email. She tapped on one and passed the phone to Aelin.

Aelin _had_ looked at the schedule, but only briefly between classes. Now, she scanned the email attachment more closely. . .

“Look at Monday,” Lysandra directed.

“Company class, break, _pas de deux_ , Pilates, rehearsal TBD,” Aelin read. What was the big deal? “I don’t get it.”

“ _Pas de deux_ ,” Lysandra emphasized. “Partnering.”

Aelin was still confused. “Well, yeah, I know what _pas de deux_ is –”

“Think about partnering class in the past. How does RBT decide partners on the first day?”

“By height,” Aelin replied automatically. “Where are you going with this?”

“Now that Rowan’s here, he’s the tallest guy, not Aedion,” Lysandra said, looking down at her coffee and peeking at Aelin from underneath her long lashes. “And from what I’ve observed in class. . . you’re the tallest girl.”

Aelin sat up and stared at her friend.

Shit.

_Shit._

\----------

The music pounded in Rowan’s head with each _thump_ of his feet against the pavement. Not many of the dancers ran, he had noticed, but it was his preferred way to build up and maintain his stamina. Dorian had gone with him once and kept up fine, but he hadn’t joined Rowan again.

Rowan didn’t mind. He liked the solitude.

Running was actually really similar to ballet – just him, his body, his breath, and his music.

It didn’t hurt that it also got _her_ out of his head.

Even when his mind was completely focused on his dancing, his traitorous eyes kept wandering to Aelin.

She just made it look so _easy_.

Of course, the rivulets of sweat that were rolling down her face and trickling down her back by the end of class every day told him it was otherwise.

She worked for it. She worked _hard_. Harder than most of the women in the Doranelle company.

But there was something else behind her dancing, something familiar. . .

He didn’t know what it was yet, but something in him had a feeling.

And if he was honest, it terrified him.

The interactions he had with her were short and usually ended with a glare and a sharp comment, usually (but not always) from her. So he did his best to keep a good distance away from Aelin Galathynius.

Rowan slowed his pace as he approached the entryway to his apartment building. He had opted for a one-bedroom, one-person apartment, and since he was coming in as a principal, he had gotten his wish.

But after three weeks, he had realized that his own apartment was the one place where he couldn’t escape the pain.

With deep breaths, Rowan stretched out with some side lunges and hamstring stretches, changing his music to something with a calmer beat.

Suddenly his text alert went off.

Rowan opened the text to see that it was from Dorian: _New schedule’s out! Finally a change of scenery!_

He went inside his building, up to the fourth floor and to the end of the hall, pulling out his keys and heading into his apartment. He made his way over to the kitchen, pulling a sports drink out of the fridge. Taking a few swigs of it, he opened his email to check the new schedule.

 _A change of scenery_ , Dorian said. Wonder what he meant?

Rowan scanned the schedule, and it didn’t take long for his eyes to land on Monday’s _pas de deux_.

This would be the first time any of the artistic staff would see his partnering skills, so this was a big deal for him. A chance to show more facets of his dancing. He smiled to himself as he took a few more sips before texting Dorian back.

_Looking forward to it!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Rowan, you have no idea. . .  
> Chapter 4 coming soon! :)  
> ~ Bellexandra


	4. Partners

Maybe it was just because it was Monday, but Aelin seemed much more icy – or was it fiery? – than usual.

Today, _she_ seemed like the one watching _him_.

And he found it rather. . .unsettling.

But part of him wondered why.

Class had finished, break had just ended, and Eudora was calling the company back to attention. “All right, everyone,” she said, clapping her hands twice. “Line up in two lines by height, women in front and men in back. And backs to each other, please.”

Rowan turned to Dorian. “What for?” he asked quietly.

“First day of partnering thing,” Dorian explained. “The first way to try out partners is by height.”

“Makes sense,” Rowan muttered to himself, walking through the cluster of men to find himself at the far end of the line. The tallest guy by a couple of inches.

Still, he had his back to his partner. In Doranelle, partners were usually chosen on basis of chemistry, which was why he and Lyria –

 _Not now_ , he said to himself. Now was not the time to be broken.

Now was an opportunity.

“You may turn around and face your partners!” Eudora’s voice sang out from the other side of the room.

Rowan took a breath as he slowly turned around. He would prove himself a fantastic partner. He would be polite, strong, and steady, ready to support whoever –

_Shit._

He found himself looking into the turquoise eyes of Aelin Galathynius.

Whose disdainful expression, he was sure, mirrored his own.

Eudora called out further instructions. “Introduce yourselves if you don’t know each other.”

Rowan held Aelin’s gaze. Neither of them moved.

Until Rowan found himself extending a hand.

Aelin arched an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Introducing myself.”

“I believe we know each other already.”

“We’ve _met_ ,” Rowan corrected her. “That doesn’t mean we know each other.”

Aelin clasped her hands behind her back. “ _I_ have no desire to. And from what I gather, I don’t think you want to, either.”

 _What an insufferable –_ “But seeing as how this is both of our first partnering classes here and I don’t want to look like an idiot, we’re going to have to put that aside for the next hour.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “And then you can go back to glaring at me during class and I can go back to ignoring you?”

Rowan clenched his teeth. “Fine with me.”

Eudora called them back to attention. They turned to face the front of the room as she demonstrated the first combination.

“I only have two rules, Whitethorn,” Aelin said, keeping her voice down. “One: don’t drop me.”

“And the second?”

Her turquoise eyes were hard, but Rowan caught the mischievous glint. “Try to keep up.”

\----------

 _The gods certainly have a sense of humor,_ Aelin thought, marking through the combination. Partnered with Rowan Whitethorn. And not only that, she’d _have_ to make it work in order to make a good impression of her partnering abilities on Eudora.

This first combination was simple: the women hold _sousous_ _en pointe_ , while the men shift their partner’s weight forward, back, right, and left. Easy; just to get used to the feel of each other. Aelin had done this combination many times before.

But not with Rowan Whitethorn.

The company divided into two groups. Aelin watched Lysandra and Aedion in the first group – they had been blessed to be paired together. She couldn’t help the swell of pride she felt for them; they moved easily together, Lysandra trusting Aedion completely as he shifted her weight around.

Then there was that familiar, brief flash of bitterness at the fact they had gone through so much and had found each other. Aelin had gone through even more, and all she had to show for it were scars and walls around her heart –

The thought flew away as quickly as it came when Eudora called the second group forward. Looking at Rowan with a brief nod, she took the place front and center of the room.

“Thank you, Jasper,” Eudora said, and the pianist began.

Aelin went _en pointe_ , her feet and legs crossed in _sousous_.

And felt Rowan’s hands on her hips.

She held her body still as he pitched her forward.

He shifted his hands to her lower back as he moved her backward, taking a small lunge backward himself.

He brought them both back to center, moving his hands back to her hips as he shifted her to the right, then the left.

Aelin reminded herself to breathe as they repeated the exercise.

But this time, Rowan went a little further, sending her further on each side. Enough that if it weren’t for him, she would end up on the floor.

Aelin met his eyes in the mirror and shot him a glare, even as amusement glinted in his.

Front, back. . .

When he shifted her over to the right, he took a step out into a deeper lunge. His right arm slid across her stomach, cradling all her weight in the crook of his elbow, his left arm extended.

He repeated the same thing on the left side, but this time, Aelin was prepared.

Instead of holding her arms in first, she lifted her left arm into fifth and turned her head to look at Rowan.

A simple adjustment, but –

“Lovely, you two,” Eudora said, having stopped in front of them.

Aelin was still looking at Rowan as he brought her back to center, and the combination ended.

“Moving on!” Eudora moved to the front of the room. “Pirouettes. _Bourr_ _ée_ forward to fourth, pirouettes, and finish in _passé_ , arms out. Take your partner’s hand, other arm up. Extend to _croisé_ , open into a whip turn, finish in _passé_ again.”

Aelin turned to walk back to wait for the second group’s turn. “Got all that, Whitethorn?”

“How many rotations do you think can fit into those two phrases?”

She stopped and turned to look up at him. “Wait, are you. . . actually asking for my opinion?”

The corners of his lips twitched up into a little smirk. “I’m just here to make you look good, princess, so I’m just asking how much work I have to do.”

The rage was so hot that Aelin could have called fire to her fingertips.

Before she could come up with a witty reply, Eudora called for the second group. They took their places at the back of the room silently as Jasper began to play.

 _Bourree,_ prepare in fourth, Rowan’s hands on her hips – _one, two, three_ rotations before Rowan stopped her. She extended her arm out to meet his waiting hand, the other arm above her head. That top arm opened as she pushed off into another pirouette.

She didn’t even count the rotations that she did.

He had given her a lot of force, almost too much; it caught her off guard and could easily have pushed her off-balance.

But Rowan’s hands were there for her. Strong, supportive, _safe_.

His voice was a whisper in her ear before they repeated the combination.

“Trust me.”

\----------

Lysandra stood next to Aedion at the side of the studio, her hands resting lightly on her hips. She was watching Aelin and Whitethorn. In fact, she couldn’t take her eyes off of them. All they were doing was a simple pirouette combination, and yet. . .

“Penny for your thoughts?” Aedion asked, taking her out of her head.

“Look at them,” Lysandra replied. “They look –”

“Good together,” he finished. “I was just thinking the same thing.” He leaned back against a barre, turning his attention back to his cousin and Whitethorn. “Too bad they hate each other.”

“Yeah,” Lysandra echoed, her thoughts distant. “Too bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having so much fun with this, you have NO IDEA  
> Thanks for reading! ^_^  
> ~ Bellexandra


	5. My Immortal

_Trust me._

Those were the only words Aelin remembered from that first partnering class.

Those words and a pair of green eyes.

After he had said that, she hadn’t spoken to him the rest of class.

And the crazy thing was, she didn’t need to.

Rowan partnered her as though he had partnered her hundreds of times before. There was nothing awkward, nothing they had to discuss, nothing to work out. It was the same story during partnering on Thursday.

He had partnered her like he _knew_ her. . .

And it scared the rutting hell out of her.

It was Saturday night, and Lysandra had gone out with Aedion. Dorian and Nehemia invited her out for drinks, but Aelin had declined.

But spending Saturday night alone with her thoughts was definitely not going to happen, so Aelin grabbed her keys and her dance bag and headed to the one place where she didn’t have to think at all.

\----------

Ever since Monday, Rowan had been unable to sleep.

That partnering class – followed by the one on Thursday –  had been the easiest of his life. He had a lot of partnering experience thanks to his time at Doranelle, and he had even gotten to partner a woman he loved, but he had never partnered anyone like Aelin.

She was an unbelievably strong dancer. Confident, powerful, and elegant, she knew exactly what worked and looked the best for her body, and she hadn’t needed to tell him any of it.

He just _knew_.

As a dancer, he knew himself, he knew her, and he now he knew _them_.

And in a secluded corner of his heart, he was afraid.

It had never been so easy with any other ballerina. Not even since –

Rowan relaxed out of the plank he had been holding, trying to shut off his thoughts. It was a gorgeous Saturday night, and all he was doing was working out.

Gods, this was pathetic.

With a sigh, Rowan pushed himself off the floor. He threw on a black t-shirt and a fresh pair of sweatpants, slung his dance bag off the table, and headed out the door.

\----------

_These wounds won’t seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There’s just too much that time cannot erase. . ._

The music blared from the sound system, drowning Aelin in words that were better than any she could come up with.

She had thrown her hair up into a high ponytail, only bothering to put on a purple high-neck leotard and black shorts. Now she stood in front of the mirror, watching the light splay across the left side of her body, and began to dance.

There was no one telling her what to do, no one to give her corrections, no one to tell her how to be the perfect ballerina.

_When you cried I’d wipe away all of your tears_

_When you’d scream I’d fight away all of your fears. . ._

This was _her_ dancing. It was messy, unrehearsed, and completely improvised, but it was for her.

Well, this piece was for Sam.

When she needed to feel him with her again, she turned on this song and danced, letting the emotions inside of her out.

_I’ve tried so hard to tell myself that you’re gone_

She didn’t care how she looked.

She didn’t care what time it was.

She didn’t care about the person watching from the window.

_But though you’re still with me, I’ve been alone all along_

She didn’t care –

The person watching from the window.

Aelin stopped.

She squinted in the darkness to see. She could make out broad shoulders, crossed arms, a black t-shirt, and silver hair.

_Whitethorn._

The very person she was trying not to think of.

And here he was, standing in the doorway. _Rutting hell._

The song ended, and they regarded each other in silence.

“You have a key, too?” Aelin asked finally, putting her hands on her hips.

He pushed himself away from the doorframe and took a few steps into the studio, the dim light illuminating his hair and eyes. “I thought only principals got them.”

Aelin shrugged. “Nehemia convinced security to give me one, too. Perks of being friends with a principal.” _Not you_ , she added silently. She brushed some sweaty strands of hair off her face, steeling herself for the question she couldn’t help but ask. “So. . .what are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I’d wager. Rehearsing,” he added quickly. But his green eyes seemed to search her face, and they both knew he was lying.

She nodded, not breaking his gaze. “How much did you see?” she asked.

He paused, searching for the right words. When he spoke, his voice was as soft and as gentle as it was when he said those two words on Monday. “Enough to know that there’s more to Princess Galathynius than she lets people see.”

Aelin was shaken. Deeply.

She felt those two words caress her ear again. _Trust me._

No. Not with this. “Well, if you wouldn’t mind, _Your Lordship_ , this princess doesn’t really want an audience right now.” She turned away from him and went back to the audio console.

She could hear the barely-contained anger in his voice. “Fine. I give up.” She heard him start to leave the studio. “You know, you’re good, Galathynius, but you’re never going to be great,” he said.

 _That_ stopped her. “Excuse me?”

“The best dancers deal with their problems,” Rowan said from behind her. “The best dancers _use_ their pain. They don’t hide it behind arrogance and pride and tricks and an Odile variation.”

She heard him getting farther away.

_You bastard._

For the first time in months, tears pricked behind her eyes.

“You can’t call yourself an artist until you _deal_ with whatever it is that makes regular ballet feel like a cage. I know it’s there. Whatever it is that made you have to dance like that –”

Every word threatened to tear down the walls she had been building up for two long, agonizing years. Every muscle in her body _screamed_ at her to hold them up.

The words tore from her throat anyway.

“ _His name was Sam.”_

\----------

Rowan froze in his tracks at the sound of her voice. A voice that was always so strong, so venomous – now filled with the haunted sound of anguish.

He turned, even though Aelin’s back was still to him.

“He was killed in a hit-and-run two years ago while he was riding his bike home.” She inhaled slowly. “To our apartment.”

Rowan went still.

 _That_ was what he had recognized in her dancing as he watched her. It was the same thing that he fought to hide in his.

Loss.

Pain.

And an escape from both.

Aelin turned her head, and Rowan was suddenly struck by the lines of her profile against the amber glow of the lamp.

“He loved me,” she said quietly. “And I loved him, and – I don’t know, some part of me maybe always will.” Her brow furrowed as she took a shuddering breath, her eyes still far away. “But I… I never told him.”

All Rowan could do was stand there as Aelin Galathynius let her walls crack.

For him.

“That’s what makes me dance like that, Rowan Whitethorn,” she said. Her eyes met his in the mirror. “Every partnering class I took for granted. Every moment I could have said three words – and then didn’t.”

And suddenly Rowan wanted nothing more than to apologize.

For everything he had assumed about her, all the cruel things he had thought about her, all the lies he had so easily believed.

He didn’t know her at all.

She seemed to remember herself suddenly, her eyes glancing briefly at him in the mirror. Brushing wisps of gold hair off her forehead, she hastily picked up her bag and headed for the door. “Sorry, forgot who I was talking to,” she said breezily as she passed him. “Not like you care anyway. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Before he could say anything, she was gone.

She was right; he didn’t care.

 _Did he?_ Rowan shook his head to clear the image of her turquoise eyes in the mirror as they burned into his.

But at least Aelin was wrong about one thing.

He understood it all too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! Getting Chapter 5 up during vacation has been tough, but here it is!  
> Thank you all so, SO much for your lovely comments! The response to this has absolutely astounded me, and I'm so thankful to have readers like you! :) More soon!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	6. Fresh Starts

_He was back at his apartment in Doranelle._

_In his old apartment, lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling._

_An untouched newspaper lay on the table next to him. He didn’t need to look at the headline; he had it memorized by now._

_BALLERINA KILLED IN SUBWAY ROBBERY GONE WRONG_

_He knew the story._

_A Doranelle ballerina had been waiting for the subway on a crowded Saturday night. A cry rang out; someone was chasing someone else. The first man, a robber in black, pushed his way through the crowd, shoved the ballerina off the platform –_

_And into the path of an oncoming train._

_It still struck him numb. They had been in rehearsal for Giselle just that afternoon._

_And now Lyria was just – gone._

_He wished he had been there._

_He wished he could have gotten the chance to kill that man._

_He wished it had been him instead of her._

_He wished he had –_

*

Rowan jerked awake to his alarm, his breathing heavy. He wiped a sheen of sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand.

For the past two nights, those images, that _nightmare,_ had returned.

Since his encounter with Aelin in the studio.

Just as the guilt threatened to wash over him again, he yanked himself out of bed and into the shower.

It was Monday morning.

A fresh week, a fresh start.

But Rowan couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was different.

\----------

Aelin was the first one in the studio this morning.

She tried not to think of the last time she had been in a studio alone.

She pulled out a barre and set it in its normal location, tossing her bag on the floor next to it. Putting her headphones in her ears, she started up her Lindsey Stirling playlist, laid on the floor, and began stretching gently.

It had been twenty minutes when the door opened.

Aelin couldn’t help it; she bolted upright.

Aedion and Lysandra entered the studio, closely followed by Dorian.

Aelin exhaled sharply and went back to her routine, trying to calm her racing heart. “How were your weekends?” she asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Lysandra looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Aelin, I live with you.”

“The question was meant for all of you,” Aelin clarified, giving Lysandra a look that clearly said, _Don’t push me today._

Lysandra gave her the smallest of nods to let her know she understood. But luckily, Aedion jumped in to answer. “Lys and I went bowling on Saturday, and yesterday afternoon I treated myself to a massage at that place around the corner from the apartments.”

Lysandra rolled her eyes, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Apparently me with a granite rolling pin isn’t enough.”

Aedion laced his fingers with hers and gently tugged her close to him. “I’d prefer your hands other –”

Dorian put his hands over his ears with a groan. “It’s Monday morning, Aedion, seriously!” Aedion laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of Lysandra’s head before the two of them set down their bags, preparing for class.

Aelin laughed with them, but once again, that stupid pang of sadness and loneliness pressed against her heart. With a last, forced smile at her cousin and friends, she threw herself back into her warmup, rolling onto her side for her next exercise.

And naturally, it was at that very moment that Rowan Whitethorn walked through the door.

Destroying any chance she had at having a good day.

\----------

She was the first thing Rowan saw when he walked into the studio.

Which inevitably brought the images of Saturday night straight to the front of his mind. Not really how he wanted to start his dance week, especially after the last two nights.

Her face was unreadable, but he caught the haze of memory that flashed across her turquoise eyes before she turned away from him.

He had no one to tell about Saturday night, and he doubted she had told any of her friends.

_Good. I’d prefer it stayed that way._

Pushing an amber-silhouetted profile from his mind, he hastened to his barre spot to begin his own warmup.

It was bad enough that there was partnering again today, so Rowan prayed that this Monday wouldn’t get any worse.

\----------

Eudora led the company through the _reverence_ , the last combination of class. Once they had applauded, however, she motioned for them to be quiet for a moment. Aelin shot a glance at Lysandra, who simply shook her head, her brow furrowed.

“I know you’ve all been curious about the season and, of course, casting,” she began, that gleam in her sharp, silver eyes as they surveyed the company. “Before partnering today, maybe during your break right now, you may want to check the notice board in the lounge.” She clapped her hands as she made her way out of the room. “You’re dismissed!”

Aelin’s heart pounded. _Come on,_ she told herself. _You’re in the corps de ballet. You’re a swan or a noblewoman or a peasant girl. You’re not that special yet._

“Well, come on!” Aedion called back to her as the group filed out towards the lounge. Without thinking, Aelin had remained rooted to her spot.

And, she noticed, so had Rowan Whitethorn.

Those pine-green eyes merely gazed out the door. But it wasn’t long before she felt them turn to her. She tensed immediately, praying he hadn’t noticed.

“Aren’t you going to look?” he asked quietly.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Whitethorn, I’m in the _corps_. A first-year company member,” Aelin said irritably, finally turning her eyes to him. “And since I’m tall, I’m going to be in the back of the ensemble of every ballet they’ve decided to put us through this year.” She shrugged. “That’s just how it goes.”

A corner of his mouth tugged upward ever so slightly, but it was gone as soon as it came. “Well, then.” He gestured to the door with one arm. “After you, Princess.”

It should have bothered her. That stupid name should have bothered her.

But it didn’t.

Before she could think about it, she hurried out of the room after the rest of the company.

*

Aelin headed for the chatter she knew was coming from the lounge. When she entered the room, she saw everything from laughter and congratulations to frustration and even indifference.

This was a scene she knew well, she thought as she looked over the group. Some dancers were happy, some were not. But no one would complain or gloat here – that would happen tonight over drinks that had the purpose of either being celebratory or being there to drown sorrows in.

This was the hardest part of being an artist. No matter how hard you worked, how much you sweat and how much your feet bled, your fate was always ultimately in someone else’s hands.

All you could do was work as hard as possible – and then you did a lot of praying.

Aelin didn’t know what to expect from the pieces of paper tacked on the board. Her focus had been on dancing; in fact, she hadn’t worried about impressing anyone since that first day.

Too much had already happened.

When she saw _Giselle_ listed as the first performance, her heart tightened a bit.

It was one of her favorites, being a story about love. It was a tragedy, but what Aelin loved was its underlying message about the endurance of love and forgiveness.

She scanned the lists of peasants and Wilis, expecting to see her name.

But it wasn’t there.

No, her name was at the top.

As Nehemia’s understudy.

_For the role of Giselle._

\----------

Rowan let Aelin go ahead and see the list first. She didn’t turn to him after looking at it; she instead made her way to Nehemia. The two women exchanged some words before Nehemia pulled Aelin into a hug, a proud smile on her face.

He continued shouldering his way through the crowd of dancers towards the bulletin board.

Even though he was a principal, he was new, and he didn’t expect anything. His eyes still found the top of the list first.

Rowan felt his heart leap to his throat as his thoughts began to race.

 _Giselle_.

_Of all the possible. . ._

He hadn’t danced any part of it since that day.

And there was his name, under the leading role of Albrecht, the prince.

It was the last time he had danced with Lyria, the last time he had held her.

Now, here he was in a new city, a new company, with people and dancers who didn’t know him at all, cast in the role of the prince who loses all he loves and receives forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.

Rowan swallowed as he realized that over the next few weeks of rehearsals, all of his ghosts, all of his past would come rising to the surface.

And he was _not_ prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are definitely about to get interesting...  
> As always, thanks for your kind comments and for continuing to read!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	7. Mourners

Aelin poured herself a glass of wine as she surveyed the scene in front of her. It looked almost identical to the earlier scene in front of the cast lists – except now, there was alcohol.

And fewer people.

And more laughter.

Which made Aelin infinitely happier.

“Where’s our brilliant up-and-comer?”

Aelin groaned as Dorian’s voice wafted over from the circle of furniture. The group was celebrating the casting announcement with drinks up on the roof of the apartment building.

But honestly, Aelin just wanted to go to bed.

She was a bit bitter about the fact that she wouldn’t be performing in _Giselle_ at all unless Nehemia was unable to, and that was the last thing Aelin wanted for her friend. Aelin just wanted to be on the stage in any capacity – and now here she was, reduced to a sideline role.

Another part of her – the rational part – knew that this was an opportunity.

She had already made up her mind to learn not only the role of Giselle, but every other role that she could.

She would be ready to jump in at any moment in any rehearsal, completely prepared and able to demonstrate what she could do.

But even then, there were a lot of ifs.

The worst part was the fact that everyone was now calling her the “up-and-comer.” Not even a year in, and she was already fuel for the rumor mill.

She hadn’t spent two years building up walls and thick skin for nothing.

Aelin plastered a smile on her face and rejoined her friends. “What about Lysandra?” she asked, deflecting the focus. “She’s already a princess!”

Lysandra blushed as Aedion wrapped an arm around her where they sat on a cushioned loveseat. She had been given the role of Bathilde, the princess to whom the character of Albrecht is already betrothed. “Yay, I get to make Nehemia go mad,” she said, drawing a laugh out of Nehemia.

“And you’re going to do beautifully,” Nehemia said with a smile, raising her glass in Lysandra’s direction before taking a sip. “Both of you,” she added, looking at Aedion.

Aedion beamed with pride. He was dancing the Act 1 peasant _pas de deux_.

Dorian set his glass on an end table, clasping his hands behind his head and extending his legs. “I’m really looking forward to this process, actually,” he said. Dorian had been cast as Hilarion, who harbors unrequited love towards Giselle, while also being cast as Rowan’s understudy for Albrecht. “I haven’t done Albrecht before, and you know how I love learning new things.” He cast a glance at Aelin. “Even if it’ll be behind your good buddy Rowan.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Very funny,” she said. “Just try not to kill him; that’s the Wilis’ job.” The group laughed. Seeing an opportunity for an exit, she stood up from her seat and gave the group a little salute. “Well, kids, I’m going to turn in for the night,” she announced. “Rifthold’s resident up-and-comer needs her beauty rest.”

Nehemia rose and gave her a hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she said with a smile, quietly enough that only Aelin would hear.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Aelin replied, a grin spreading across her face. The rest of the group bid her goodnight, and she headed back inside.

*

Aelin came back out into the hall from the stairwell that led to the roof. She leaned against the wall and let out a long exhale before taking a generous swig from her glass.

She closed her eyes and rested her head back against the wall.

These were about to be some of the most challenging weeks of her life.

_Gods help me._

She turned her head to the left and opened her eyes.

To see a silver-haired figure out on the fire escape.

Making a decision, she took another long sip of her wine and willed herself to walk in his direction.

\----------

“What, we’re not even worthy of a buzzard’s attention?”

Rowan turned at the sound of her voice. She sidled towards him, one arm across her chest, the other hand holding a glass of wine. “A buzzard?”

Aelin smirked, but there was a hardness in her eyes. “You seem to enjoy spending a lot of your time picking me apart, so I thought it suited you.”

Rowan blinked as he willed his mouth to stay shut, trying to keep his guilt from rushing out in a jumbled mess of apologies.

Thankfully (or maybe not), Aelin continued. “Maybe I’m wrong, but aren’t buzzards usually in groups?”

“Funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny, I’m asking you a question.” She studied him. “Is there a reason why you’ve been off since this morning?”

Her tone took him by surprise. There was no mocking or humor in her voice, just honesty. A question seeking an answer. And of course she had noticed his change in demeanor after he saw the list. He huffed a sigh.

“That’s not an answer.”

He turned around, leaning backward against the fire escape railing and crossing one foot over the other. “I’m not going to bother you with my problems, Princess.”

“I don’t mind being bothered.”

Rowan fought the amusement that crept into his voice. “Personal experience begs to differ.”

“Talk to me, Whitethorn.”

“Why are you being so difficult?”

“I’m just trying to understand you!”

 _That_ took him by surprise.

And from the small flush that crept into her cheeks, Aelin’s sudden outburst had surprised her, too.

But she kept those turquoise eyes focused on his, her gaze steady and unwavering.

She didn’t have to say a word for him to know what she was telling him.

_Trust me._

This girl, this _impossible_ girl who had been his antagonist since day one in Rifthold, had just become the first to offer to listen.

Gods, he didn’t understand _her_ , and here she was, saying she was trying to understand _him._

He searched her face for any signs of deceit or ulterior motives, but all he saw was an openness that unsettled him.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to tell Aelin Galathynius his story.

\----------

“Remember when I told you the best dancers use their pain?”

She remembered it all too well. The way his words had stirred up such raw grief and anger. . . “Of course,” she replied quietly.

“Well, I’m being forced to use it all.” Rowan swirled the contents of his glass, staring into the red liquid. He seemed to be steeling himself. “I know it’s far, but did you ever hear about the Doranelle ballerina who was killed in a subway accident a couple years ago?”

She nodded. “The ballet world is a small one,” she said. “I remember reading the article and feeling sick to my stomach.”

Rowan’s focus stayed on his glass, but his voice and his gaze were far away. “She was my fiancée.”

Four words.

That was all it took to shatter everything Aelin thought she knew about Rowan Whitethorn.

Her thoughts hurtled back to that Saturday night. What had she said?

_I wouldn’t expect you to understand._

Oh, _gods._

He _did_ understand.

And this wasn’t a casual lover he had lost, it was a _fiancée,_ a woman he had planned to spend the rest of his life with –

And she had hidden behind her walls so long that she couldn’t even tell that he had spent two years doing the exact same thing.

Suddenly, his quiet voice yanked her from her thoughts. “We were rehearsing _Giselle_ that morning.”

Aelin fought to keep her mouth from falling open.

He had been so distant all day because he was thinking about what he was about to face. All of those memories were being forced to the surface, and all of the things that haunted him were going to be there every single time he rehearsed.

Rowan Whitethorn was about to go through hell.

\----------

He had no idea why he told her, why Lyria’s death came tumbling out of his mouth.

Maybe it was the wine.

Or –

Or maybe it was the fact that she was here, listening. No one had done that before.

She was still here.

After telling her everything, after revealing himself for the broken, lost man he felt he was, she was still here.

“So here we are, two people who have lost the people they love, about to do a ballet about losing the person you love.”

He saw her hand as it came to rest lightly on his forearm. He lifted his head to meet her gaze, which floored him again.

It was softer than he believed she was ever capable of being.

He just saw understanding. Empathy.

Friendship.

“We can do this, Rowan,” Aelin said, her long fingers giving his arm a squeeze so subtle, he was sure he imagined it. When he couldn’t bring himself to respond, she turned and walked back into the building.

Alone again, with nothing but the tumult of his thoughts, now suddenly filled with the color of warm turquoise and soft gold.

But somewhere, in a darkened corner of his heart, it suddenly occurred to him that she had called him by his first name.

And that he wanted to hear her do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update!  
> Just so you're all aware, I'm moving to Florida on Wednesday and starting a new job (time for the real world!), so I can't promise a fast Chapter 8. But I can promise that Rowan and Aelin's story is far from finished! ^_^  
> I'm still so floored by the response I've gotten on this fic, and I can't thank you all enough for sticking with me and for your kind, gushy comments! You're all the best!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	8. Breaking Point

_Arms lengthen. . . down, slow developpé into the lift, gentle lean forward. . ._

Aelin stood at the back of the studio with Dorian, marking through the Act II _pas de deux_ while paying close attention to Nehemia and Rowan, who were rehearsing at the front. She loved watching Nehemia dance, and this role showed off her friend’s long limbs and elegant lines with every movement she made.

And then there was Rowan.

Everything he did was effortless, and he looked completely at ease with the choreography.

But Aelin knew better.

Now she knew about Lyria, about Rowan’s history with _Giselle_. She noticed the extra sweat, the slight tension he held in his upper back. Every day was a battle for him, a fight to keep the nightmares at bay. No one else saw.

Aelin did.

“Good, you two. Take a break,” Eudora said, shaking Aelin from her thoughts. Rowan and Nehemia nodded and headed for the door, Rowan making sure to get there first to hold it open for her.

 _How chivalrous,_ Aelin thought with an inward smile.

Eudora gestured to Aelin and Dorian. “While they’re taking a break, would either of you like to run through anything? I need to run to my office for a moment.”

Aelin looked at Dorian. “Can we run the Act II _pas_ and the Act I variation?”

“Fine with me,” he replied with a grin. He gave a flourishing gesture toward the center of the studio. “After you, milady.” Eudora chuckled as she left the studio.

Aelin glanced at the rehearsal pianist. Aelin didn’t know much about her, besides the fact that she was new – and that she looked like she could either be your best friend or your worst enemy.

But she supposed that was a matter of opinion.

Taking her place in the center of the room, she heard Dorian’s voice. “Thank you, Manon,” he said quietly.

Manon. So that was her name.

And Dorian knew it. _Interesting. . ._

Manon nodded, brushing a lock of white hair behind her ear. She started to play the _adagio_ of the _pas de deux_ , which began with a brief but difficult solo for Giselle. Aelin started in fifth position, extending her right leg into a high _developpé_ to the side. She brushed through first to _arabesque_ , a _promenade_ , then ending in a _tendu_. She then lifted her left leg into second before turning her body to face the right, leaning low into an _arabesque penché_. After a brief musical interlude, Aelin _bourrée_ d backwards until she felt Dorian’s hands on her waist, and then the two of them began the rest of the _pas de deux_.

It was easy, dancing with Dorian. It was comfortable.

 _It was comfortable dancing with Sam, too_ –

At the first reminder of his name, Aelin shut her thoughts down completely. She went into autopilot, concentrating on Giselle’s moment at hand.

Before she knew it, the _pas_ was over, and she was leaning against Dorian in an _arabesque_.

Manon stopped playing.

Aelin came down from _pointe_ , letting Dorian stand up. He turned to her, his breathing slightly heavier. “How did that feel to you?” he asked.

Aelin rested her hands on her hips. “Fine, I think,” she shrugged. “Not too bad for a first full run.”

It had in fact been far from fine. Aelin had felt herself close off and shy away from any emotional expression – and she knew that as a dancer, her storytelling abilities suffered because of it.

She prayed to the gods that she wouldn’t have to perform it. At all. Ever.

Right as she spoke, she noticed Rowan in the doorway. His arms were crossed, and he leaned against the wall. Those pine-green eyes were studying her intently.

 _Damn it, why did he always have to look like he_ knew _her so well?_

Aelin turned back to the task at hand, feeling the weight of his gaze still behind her. “Manon, can I have the Act I variation, please?”

\----------

Rowan watched Aelin as she talked smoothly with Dorian. _Fine, I think,_ he heard her say. Even if he hadn’t known what she had gone through, he would have been able to tell that her dancing was off.

The fact was that he _did_ know what she had gone through. She was going through the same thing he was in dancing this ballet.

He watched her go through Giselle’s Act I variation. She was more at ease dancing alone, smiling and acting the part.

But she wasn’t free.

Rowan ran a hand through his hair. _And neither am I_ , he thought.

_So what are we going to do about it?_

Aelin finished the variation, and her brilliant eyes immediately found his. She forced a tight smile, but her eyes. . . they were deep turquoise pools brimming with both apology and pain.

But she wasn’t trying to hide it from him.

He hoped it meant that she knew he understood.

But beyond that. . . he had no idea what to do.

*

_Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two._

For Rowan, the answer had to be in the studio.

It was going on 9:00 pm, he noticed as he glanced at the clock. He had been there for about an hour, going through all of Albrecht’s parts. He had done the famous thirty-two _entrechat six_ three times now, and he was done. He couldn’t take it anymore.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on one of his arms, leaning it up on a wall.

 _Not a wall, the mirror_.

His eyes sprang open.

He studied himself.

A line of sweat traced its way down his temple. His silver hair was mussed. He looked stronger, probably even better than he had been at Doranelle.

But the man looking back at him was broken.

And if he was honest with himself, he didn’t know if his pieces could be put together again.

He might as well have been hit by that train, too.

Then that look in Aelin’s eyes yesterday. . .

It had shattered him all over again.

The fear, the apology, the _anguish_ –

Rowan looked at his eyes again in the mirror.

Eyes now rimmed with silver.

 _That_ hadn’t happened in two years.

He let out a long exhale, his shoulders giving a single shudder. “ _Gods_ ,” he breathed.

With another deep breath, he pushed away from the wall and headed out of the studio.

He was walking down the hall towards the men’s dressing room when he heard music.

Music from _Giselle_.

The Act II _pas de deux_.

Cursing his curiosity and shoving away the sudden pang in his chest, Rowan followed the melancholy cello to the main studio. He peered in the window.

She wore all of her dance attire, but she sat against the mirror, her arms hugging her knees, her head tilted back, looking at the ceiling. She squeezed her eyes shut, and he saw a thin line of silver escape down her cheek.

She looked so small.

Even the music seemed to swallow her whole.

Suddenly she stood up and went over to the sound system. Wiping her eyes brusquely, she changed the music. Act I, Giselle’s entrance. Giselle’s dance with Loys, the peasant alias of Prince Albrecht.

Aelin took her place. On cue, she stepped out, beginning a small series of jumps around the space. She looked better than she had in rehearsal yesterday, but he could still see her fighting the ghosts, fighting both keep up and to tear down her walls.

As quietly as he could, Rowan slipped into the studio and waited.

\----------

Aelin tried to go through the _pas_ , even just marking it.

She just. . . _couldn’t_.

She had been doing okay until yesterday, when she actually had the chance to do it full out for the first time. It should have been an opportunity, but all it had been was torture. She had been able to cover it up to Dorian.

But then she had looked at Rowan.

And he had seen straight through her.

There was no hiding from him. From someone who she now knew to be as broken as she was.

She shoved herself up from the floor, aggressively scrubbing the traitorous tear that had trickled down her cheek.

She hadn’t cried in almost two years.

She would get this right. She could do it. She _would_ do it.

She went back to the beginning of the ballet, to Giselle’s entrance. Tapping _play_ , she took her place at stage right of the room. The music began.

_Albrecht, as Loys, knocks on the door. He hides behind the house as. . ._

Aelin stepped out on the floor, glancing around excitedly as if looking for him. She executed the series of _sautés_ in a circle before arriving back at downstage right. She mimed _I heard knocking – from where?_ She looked for Albrecht again briefly, shrugged, then launched into the next series of steps, steps meant to demonstrate Giselle’s playfulness and love of dancing.

_Albrecht blows kisses here, stop, listen. . . Go look for him._

Aelin ran around the room, looking for her imaginary Albrecht. Going to where his house would be, downstage left, she mimed inviting him out. Then a second time. Dejected, she hung her head and slowly stepped backwards, where Albrecht would be –

She bumped into someone.

Someone was there.

She took a sharp intake of breath, her heart pounding as she turned to face whoever it was, her head and gaze still firmly on the ground. She saw a pair of slightly beat-up black ballet shoes and gray tights rolled up, revealing a pair of muscled calves. Male legs.

As the familiar flute and violin phrase began, she felt a thumb and forefinger under her chin.

Fingers that were so strong, but so gentle that it surprised her.

Then those fingers slowly tilted her chin up.

Her eyes were already burning before she met a familiar pine-green gaze.

The music kept playing, but Aelin couldn’t dance anymore. Not tonight.

As Rowan’s eyes knocked down every single one of her walls, she felt the tears come, sliding hot and fast down her cheeks.

Rowan’s arms were around her before she could wipe them away.

She clutched his shirt, letting the silent sobs wrack her body.

He just stood there and held her, letting her fall apart in his arms.

And not once did he try to pull away.

He stayed.

But even as she was breaking apart, one of those jagged pieces of her broken soul slid back into place.

Despite everything, he was here.

Rowan was here.

And she was not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back!!  
> I'm all moved in here in Florida, which means I finally had time for an update! To be honest, this was the hardest chapter I've done so far. Like RUTTING HELL WRITING EMOTIONS IS EXHAUSTING. But I hope you enjoyed in nonetheless! Sometimes you have to break a bone to get it to heal, you know?  
> ~ Bellexandra


	9. A Partnership

“Enough for two?”

Aelin looked up from cutting strawberries to see Lysandra stroll out of their room, toweling off her hair. “Already on it,” she replied with a smile. “They were on sale at the farmers’ market this morning, so I think we’ve got enough strawberries for a couple weeks.”

“Knowing you, they’ll last half that long.” Lysandra eyed the bag resting next to the strawberries. “Along with the powdered sugar.”

With a spoon, Aelin scooped a couple of generous heaps of powdered sugar onto her bowl of strawberries. She gestured to Lysandra’s bowl. “Do you want sugar with your strawberries, or berries with your sugar?” Lysandra pointed at the sugar bag. Aelin laughed. “Done and done.”

She gave Lysandra her bowl, and the two of them curled up at opposite ends of their couch. Aelin mixed her berries and sugar together, loving the way they smelled. She lifted her spoon into her mouth, savoring the taste. “So how’s Bathilde coming?” she asked.

Lysandra paused to swallow her mouthful. “It’s interesting, doing a ballet and not actually dancing any ballet,” she said, “but it’s such a pivotal role when it comes to the story, you know?”

Aelin nodded. “At least you know you’ll be performing,” she remarked.

“Ah, yes, breaking Nehemia’s heart and being engaged to your favorite person.”

Aelin’s heart gave an extra _thump_ , but she covered it with a small laugh. “How is _that_ going?” she asked, unable to help her curiosity.

Lysandra swirled her strawberries and sugar. “You know, Rowan’s honestly one of the nicest dancers I’ve ever worked with,” she said. “He’s polite, he asks for my opinion, he offers suggestions without being condescending.” Her gaze flicked back up to Aelin. “But something tells me you know that already.”

Aelin forced her sugary bite down her throat. _How did she –_ “What do you mean?”

“You don’t stare daggers at each other in class anymore, you’re both really focused in partnering class, you’re calling him by his first name. . .” Lysandra gave her a pointed look. ”You’re my best friend. It’s my job to notice these things.”

Aelin sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a pause before Lysandra spoke again, her voice gentle. “So what changed?”

Aelin put her empty bowl on the coffee table and hugged her knees in to her chest. “I didn’t know him at all,” she said quietly. “And we’ve got more in common than I think either of us thought.”

Lysandra nodded. “Well, I’m glad that’s one less thing for you to worry about,” she said. She didn’t press for further details, to Aelin’s relief.

But she was wrong about one thing.

The way he had so easily torn down all of her walls when his arms wrapped around her . . . well, it worried her a lot.

Terrified her, actually.

_Breeep!_

Aelin’s head turned at the sound of her text tone. She stood up and picked up her bowl, making her way back to the kitchen area, where she had left her phone on the counter. She rinsed out her bowl and put it in the dishwasher before picking up her phone and unlocking it.

It was from Nehemia.

_Can you come down for a few minutes?_

“What’s up?” Lysandra asked.

“Not sure, but Nehemia wants me to come over for something,” Aelin replied, sliding her feet into her always-available cushy slippers and picking up her keys.

“Mmkay, see you soon,” Lysandra said, standing up with her own empty bowl.

Aelin sent a quick text before heading out the door.

_Sure, I’m on my way!_

*

Nehemia’s apartment was a floor below. Aelin made her way down the stairwell and to Nehemia’s door, knocking a couple times. “Nehemia, it’s me,” she called.

The door opened, and Nehemia greeted her with a small smile. “Hey, come on in,” she said, gesturing towards her living space. As a more seasoned dancer with the company, Nehemia had her pick of living arrangements, and she had chosen a single. Orange and yellow flowers sat in a vase on the coffee table, and a luxurious-looking woven blanket was draped over the back of her deep red couch. Aelin loved coming here; Nehemia kept her apartment warm and inviting.

“Drink?”

Plus she had a decently-stocked bar.

“Thanks,” Aelin replied, taking the glass from her. She followed Nehemia to her couch and plopped down, careful not to spill her wine. “So how’s everything?” she asked. “You and Rowan are looking pretty good.”

Nehemia smiled gratefully. “Thank you, I appreciate that,” she replied. “He’s a great dancer and a great partner.” As she spoke, her eyes grew the tiniest bit more intense – or was Aelin imagining things?

Either way, she knew Nehemia enough to know that something wasn’t right.

“What’s going on, Nehemia?” she asked, her stomach slowly coiling itself into knots.

Nehemia set her glass down, focusing her attention completely on Aelin. “My parents called me today,” she began. “There’s some kind of trouble going on in Eyllwe, and they’ve. . .” She ran a hand through her dark hair. “They’ve asked that I come home.”

Aelin’s stomach dropped.

“You’re. . . you’re leaving?” Aelin asked, her voice weak.

Nehemia’s eyes filled with sadness. “I am,” she confirmed. “There’s a lot of unrest right now, and they want me there to help.”

“What kind of unrest?”

“They wouldn’t say,” Nehemia admitted. “But my parents wouldn’t ask me to come unless it was serious.”

Aelin nodded weakly. “So you’ve already decided.”

“It’s my home, Aelin,” she said, tilting her head. “I thought you of all people would understand that.”

A knife twisted in Aelin’s gut. “Of course I do, I just. . .” She sighed, tears pricking behind her eyes. “No, you’re right. You should go.”

“You know what that means, don’t you?”

“That you’re leaving, yeah, I got that.”

“You’ll be performing Giselle.”

Aelin could have sworn her heart stopped.

_No._

_She couldn’t, she wasn’t ready –_

“Nehemia, I – I can’t –” Her voice completely failed her. “It’s in two weeks!” Nehemia was sending her to the wolves of her past and she couldn’t. . .

“Listen to me, Aelin.”

Aelin pulled it together at Nehemia’s tone. The tone of control, the tone of command.

The tone of a queen.

“I know this is going to be hard for you,” she said. “But you are _not_ in this alone. You have Aedion, Dorian, and Lysandra. They’ll help you through this. They’ve helped you through a lot already.” Her gaze grew serious. “And Rowan will be with you every step of the way. He won’t let you down.”

 _No, he won’t_.

The truth of it resonated with her deeply.

“When do you leave?” Aelin asked.

“Tomorrow.”

Another blow. “So soon. . .” The tears spilled onto her cheeks.

Nehemia drew her into a tight hug. “You have my number. Call me or FaceTime me whenever you need to, okay?” she said, pulling back to see Aelin’s face. Aelin nodded. “You’re going to be amazing, Aelin. You already are.” She took Aelin’s hands. “You could rattle the stars if you wanted to.”

Aelin was touched by her friend’s words. Nehemia had always believed in her, especially when Aelin couldn’t believe in herself. Aelin studied her face, committing every line to memory as she felt another one of her anchors slipping through her fingertips. “I hope everything goes okay at home,” she said. “Tell your parents I say hi?”

Nehemia smiled. “Of course.”

Aelin took a deep breath and stood up, wanting to get out the door before the tears started again.

Then a thought clanged through her mind, and she couldn’t shake it away.

“Can I see your phone?” she asked.

“Sure, what do you need?” Nehemia picked it up from the coffee table.

“I need a number.”

\----------

_Roof in 5?_

The text was from an unknown number, but Rowan was curious. Not many people had his number, so he wondered who had given it to. . . whoever this person was.

He headed up the staircase and slowly opened the door that led onto the rooftop.

The first thing he saw was a figure, a female, leaning against the wall with her elbows on the stone. She turned her face up to the moonlight, and Rowan caught a familiar flash of turquoise.

_Aelin._

She glanced at him briefly, and Rowan swore that he saw relief flash across her eyes.

“It’s kind of embarrassing that you keep seeing me like this,” she commented, but there was no levity in her tone.

“Like what?” he asked, making his way over to lean against the wall beside her.

“I think every time you look at me I’m falling apart.”

“I –”

“I just couldn’t be alone right now, and you were the first person to come to mind.”

Her quiet admission cracked his heart. Nehemia must have told her.

He didn’t say anything. He could tell that all she needed right now was a listener.

“Giselle,” she said, blowing out a breath. “One of the biggest roles in classical ballet. And me, not even a year in a professional company, and I’m going to be dancing it. At the Rifthold Opera House. In front of a thousand people.” She raked her fingers through her gold hair as silver gathered in her eyes, sending one tear down her face. “A thousand people are going to watch me fall to pieces.”

The memory was on him in an instant.

_Before he knew what was happening, his arms were around her, folding her into his embrace. He stood there feeling the shuddering of her sobs against his chest, letting her tears soak the front of his shirt. . ._

“You’re not going to fall to pieces, Aelin.”

She turned to him suddenly. “How do you know that?”

He gave her a small smile. “Because if you fall to pieces, I’m falling to pieces,” he said. “Isn’t that how partnering works?”

“I thought you were just there to keep me from falling on my ass.”

His smile grew broader. “That’s one part of my job, yeah.”

“What else, pray tell, does your job in this partnership entail?”

 _Partnership._ The word caused an an unfamiliar warmth to spread in his chest, and his tone grew serious. “It means that we work our asses off to tell this story the best that we possibly can. It means that we work together. It means that I help you, and you help me.” He took a breath. “It means that I _let_ you help me,” he said. “And you let me help you.”

She regarded him for a moment before turning her gaze back up to the night sky, where stars dotted the deep violet. “I’m alone and I’m terrified, Rowan,” she said quietly. “I feel like whenever I need someone to be there, I’m either being a burden or. . . or they walk away before I feel like I can trust them to listen.”

This girl he had hated. This girl with whom he somehow had a lot in common.

This girl who had endured so much and suffered behind walls of her own making.

This girl who, despite everything, was entrusting him with the deepest fears of her heart.

A heart made of fire.

“You’re wrong,” he said.

“I know you just love telling me when I’m wrong, but I think I know myself –”

“You’re not alone.”

She snapped her focus back to him. “What did you say?” Her voice was nearly a whisper.

He held that turquoise gaze, willing her to trust what he had said. She needed to trust someone. She needed to trust _him_ , if they were to have any hope of pulling off _Giselle_.

The corners of his lips twitched upward. “You know, I thought of a nickname for you.”

“And what might yours be? Lorcan likes ‘fire-breathing bitch-queen.’”

Rowan snorted. “As poetic as that is. . . no.”

“So what have you got, buzzard?”

At that, he smiled. “Fireheart.”

She blinked. “Fireheart?”

“Having a heart made of fire means that you could destroy yourself with the things you hold in, the things you keep bottled up inside of you.” He studied her face, those turquoise eyes burning into him. “But it also means that you care. Deeply. That you feel things on a level that a lot of people couldn’t even begin to understand. That you see people better than they see themselves.”

Aelin let out a derisive laugh. “Well, I sure wish I could see myself.”

“I see you.”

The words were out before he could stop them.

But he didn’t care.

He meant it.

His gaze softened as he took in the incredulous look on her face. “You’re not alone, Aelin,” he told her. “We can do this. And we _will_ do this.”

After a pause, her turquoise eyes shining, she pushed back from the wall and extended a hand to him. “Together, buzzard,” she said, a warm, small smile starting to light up her face.

Rowan smiled back and took her hand, giving it a firm shake as he felt a shift in the air around them.

“Together, Fireheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This looks like the beginning of a beautiful partnership, eh? :)  
> ~ Bellexandra


	10. Dress Rehearsal

It was late morning, not too long after warm-up class. Aelin stood atop a carpeted block in the costume shop, patiently waiting as the seamstress, Elide, assessed the fit of this particular dress. Despite her slight limp, Elide was constantly in motion when she wasn’t seated at a sewing machine, her bright eyes catching every detail and noticing frayed edges or loose buttons – often before they became frayed or loose.

Elide walked around to stand in front of Aelin again. “Everything looks perfect to me,” she said, “but how does it feel? Any discomfort anywhere?”

Aelin smiled at her. “I think you’d have seen anything by now,” she replied, causing a faint blush of pride to rise in the seamstress’s cheeks. “But can I take it into the studio and try a couple of things with it on?”

“Of course! Do whatever you need to do.” Elide went over to the shop door and pushed it open for Aelin. “It’s not every day that a first-year _corps_ member is about to become a star overnight!”

Aelin’s stomach churned at Elide’s words. The pressure she was feeling had only increased over the past few days, and tonight was dress rehearsal.

Her last chance to get everything right.

Before she had a thousand people watching her. . .

Aelin managed to give Elide a small, tight smile before she headed down the hall towards the main studio.

She heard music.

Act I of _Giselle_ again.

She peered in the corner of the window and smiled when she saw the dancer inside.

Rowan was going through some of his choreography – and he, too, was in his costume, his tunic and tights.

The tunic was made of tan-brown fabric with accents looking like darker laces on the front. The long sleeves belled slightly on the shoulders but hugged the rest of the arms, cream-colored fabric in the folds of the bell. It was Albrecht’s peasant costume, made to look like the clothes of a simple, common man.

But as Aelin took a few moments to watch Rowan dance, she remembered that the man in the costume was anything but simple and common.

He was just going through the steps; not trying to act, just getting a feel for the costume.

A costume that, Aelin observed, fit him extremely well.

The lines of his legs, his broad shoulders, his elegant arms.

He was rehearsing one of the Act I pieces, and he was just about to the part where Giselle pulls him in to join the dance.

Fighting a smile, she silently entered the studio and ran over to him just as he turned around to see her.

Surprise flashed across his face before it settled into a quiet happiness – even playfulness.

An expression that loosened some of the tightness in her stomach.

And they danced.

\----------

_Beautiful._

That was the first word that flashed through his mind when he turned to see Aelin there, pulling him into the next section of choreography.

The deeper blue of the bodice brought out her eyes, and the soft white and pale-blue layers of the tutu skirt breezed around her legs like waves, rolling and swishing with her every movement.

It fit her perfectly.

And as they danced together, Rowan noticed that Aelin seemed calmer, freer in her dancing than he’d seen her for a while.

Well, there wasn’t a problem in the world that couldn’t be solved with the right outfit.

Neither of them said a word as they finished the piece, Rowan lifting Aelin onto his shoulder, Aelin looking down at him from above, her turquoise eyes unreadable.

He set her down again, gently, her pointe shoes not even making a whisper of sound.

Aelin turned to him. “I think the costumes look good,” she said finally, brushing a tendril of hair off of her face.

All Rowan could do was nod. “They feel good, too,” he replied. “Nothing loose, nothing from my tunic catching on you.”

“Elide does her job well.”

“She does.”

He hadn’t meant to say it so quickly. He hadn’t meant it like that.

But when the surprise in her eyes made them brighter, when the faintest blush stained her cheeks a lovely shade of pink as she hastily bid him _I’ll see you later_. . .

Maybe he _had_ meant it like that after all.

\----------

Enormous.

The Rifthold Opera House was enormous.

And maybe that _still_ wasn’t even the right word.

Aelin had gotten to the theatre early before warm-up class, and now she stood alone on the stage, taking in the cavernous space that loomed before her.

Rows of plush, red velvet seats filled the space. There was the orchestra level of seats, plus an additional four balcony levels and side boxes. The ceiling was gilt with gold, casting a warm, luxurious feeling over the entire room.

And the chandeliers.

There were four, smaller chandeliers that framed the sides of the auditorium, miniature versions of the one that hung from the center of the ceiling.

It took Aelin’s breath away.

Curlicues of gold stemmed from the center, fanning out into multiple circles, in layers like a cake. Faceted crystals hung from each curl, catching the light from the soft yellow bulbs that grew from the chandelier like flower buds.

As Aelin studied that chandelier, she no longer felt small.

She felt the warmth of the light, felt it beckoning in welcome as if to say, _I’ve been waiting for you._

She _belonged_ here.

And for tonight, and the next three nights, this stage belonged to her.

“It’s incredible,” breathed a familiar voice from behind her.

She didn’t look as Rowan came to stand beside her, looking up at the magnificent chandelier.

They stood in silence for a long time, gazing at the chandelier until their breathing unconsciously fell into sync.

“I used to imagine what it would be like to stand on this stage,” Aelin said in a low, reverent voice, breaking the quiet. “To feel the heat of the lights on my face, the fabric of a gorgeous costume against my skin.” She swallowed. “To dance like I always dreamed of dancing.”

He was silent, letting her say whatever she needed to say.

“When . . . when Sam died, I didn’t know if that would ever happen,” she admitted. “But he taught me that whenever I was feeling nervous or anxious, I should say one thing over and over again.”

She felt his gaze shift down to her. “And what is that?”

She looked up into his pine-green eyes, the eyes that knew and saw every part of who she was. The eyes that had never once wavered.

She matched his gaze. “My name is Aelin Galathynius,” she said, “and I will not be afraid.”

Emotion simmered in Rowan’s eyes, something akin to pride. A warm smile spread across his face, uncoiling a tightness in Aelin’s chest. “I will not be afraid,” he echoed.

She couldn’t help from smiling in return as he added, “Fireheart.”

\----------

This might have been the easiest dress rehearsal of Rowan’s life.

Everyone was prepared, patient, and even enjoying themselves.

It had certainly never been like this at Doranelle.

It had only been a couple of hours, and they were already moving on to Act II. The backdrop had been changed from the Rhineland village of Act I to the eerie, ethereal forest of Act II. The stage was mostly lit with deep blues, and a dry ice machine finished filling the stage floor with ghostly mist. And upstage right lay the most important set piece of all:

The cross bearing the name _GISELLE._

Rowan stood in the wings on stage left, watching the orchestra conductor, Emrys, strike up the start of Act II. He watched as Myrtha, danced by a soloist named Kaltain, glided across the stage into her variation. Next were the Wilis, the _corps de ballet_ of women, entering in a beautiful dance, no smiles on any of their faces.

As they danced, his eyes wandered to the wings on the other side of the stage.

The breath left his lungs when he saw the figure preparing for her entrance.

Aelin was in a calf-length white tutu, short butterfly sleeves capping her shoulders. The layers of her skirt looked as though they had been fashioned from layers of the softest clouds, as though the moment you touched them, they would evaporate. She had redone her hair after the Act I mad scene and finale, pulling it back into a low bun, sections of hair covering her ears. He could see the tips of the small, white flowers of her headpiece when she looked down, rolling through her feet before the music for her entrance began.

He watched as she crossed her wrists at the level of her waist, in the pose signifying the Wilis, and stepped out onto the stage.

He blew out a breath, even as his body went completely still in preparation for his entrance.

Three thoughts crossed his mind before he danced Act II, each one fading as his music neared.

First, Aelin truly was not afraid.

Second, she was beautiful. No – in this costume, the soft layers of white. . . she was breathtaking.

And third. . .

He was in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update!  
> So, I'm sitting in a safe location while Hurricane Irma rages around me, and this chapter is the result of all this sudden free time that I haven't had for a couple of weeks. I apologize that my updates are so unpredictable, but isn't that how life goes? :)  
> Get excited! The next chapter is opening night!!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	11. Giselle: Act I

_Makeup done, costume and shoes on, hair sprayed just enough . . ._

Aelin sat in her dressing room, pushing the last bobby pins into her hair and securing the small blue-flowered hairpiece to the sides of her bun. With them in place, she was finished.

She was ready.

She pulled her favorite pair of warmup boots over her pointe-shoed feet just as the stage manager’s voice came over the backstage PA system. “ _Fifteen minutes to places,_ ” Amren said, “ _fifteen to places._ ”

Fifteen minutes until the overture.

Fifteen minutes until the Rifthold Opera House stage became hers.

Fifteen minutes until her life would surely change.

But _how_ it would change . . . that was completely up to her.

Aelin stood from her chair and met her own gaze in the mirror.

She was strong.

She belonged here.

This night would be hers – and this performance would be for Sam.

She had been so selfish with his memory, she realized, chaining him to this world and to her own suffering. Sam deserved to be free.

So tonight, she would dance the way that Sam always believed she could.

And maybe, just maybe, she would be able to let him go.

Aelin picked up her pair of water bottles, one for each side of backstage, and gave her reflection a small smile.

“My name is Aelin Galathynius. And I will not be afraid.”

\----------

Rowan knew he was nervous.

He had gotten to the theatre much earlier than usual, hoping it would help, but all it did was make the minutes until curtain tick by even slower.

He sat alone in his dressing room, putting the final touches on his stage makeup. This was a comfortable routine for him; the focus he had when doing his makeup made it impossible to think about anything else.

But now, his makeup was done, and Amren’s voice came over the speaker announcing that it was fifteen minutes to places.

And he was about to make his Rifthold debut with the role that had haunted him since Doranelle. Since that fateful subway accident.

Rowan closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths.

But for once, it wasn’t the newspaper headline that flashed behind his eyelids.

He saw a flash of turquoise, felt a soft touch on his forearm, heard a whisper of a warm laugh.

Rowan opened his eyes to find his reflection somehow seemed . . . stronger.

Because of Aelin.

_What was it she had said?_

Rowan’s lips twitched into a smile as he remembered.

“My name is Rowan Whitethorn,” he told his reflection. “And I will not be afraid.”

* * *

Rowan arrived on the stage to find Aelin already there. The curtain was closed, and the soft din of the arriving audience could be heard just beyond the plush red velvet. The onstage lighting was dim, but it was enough for him to practice a few things from Act I.

He watched Aelin execute a perfect series of double turns from her variation before he launched into a subdued version of one of his jumping sequences.

His heart rate had increased ever so slightly when he heard his name – and his stupid heart stuttered. Or maybe it was just the exertion. Definitely the exertion.

“ _Rowan!”_ He turned towards the source of the loud whisper to see Aelin motioning towards him.

“What is it?” he asked.

She gestured for him to turn around. “Here. A couple of your hooks came undone,” she explained, keeping her voice low. Rowan obliged and turned his back to her. There was a small tug as she reclasped the stray hooks and eyes, and he felt the slightest brush of her fingertips on the skin of his back.

“Done,” she whispered, and Rowan turned around to face her again. Her eyes scanned the front of his costume for anything amiss – while Rowan studied her for any signs of anxiousness. He didn’t see any until his gaze fell on the side of her neck, where he saw her pulse beating a tiny bit erratically.

So when Aelin lifted a hand to his chest to brush something away, Rowan set his own hand over hers, gently pressing her palm flat over his heart. Even in the dim light of the stage, he watched her turquoise eyes flare as she felt the nervous pulsing of his own blood.

He hoped she sensed what he didn’t want to say out loud.

_You are not alone._

As if she read his thoughts, Aelin’s painted lips spread into a warm smile, a smile that unknotted any tension he was still holding on to.

_“Places!”_ Amren hissed from the wings. “All dancers to places!”

Aelin’s turquoise eyes never left his. “Together, Buzzard.”

Rowan returned her smile. “Together, Fireheart.”

He pulled away from her slowly, and they made their way to the wings on opposite sides of the stage. Rowan waited as the overture began.

And as the stage lights came up in warm, sunny tones of gold, Rowan realized that he was ready.

He _could_ dance this role.

And as the entrance music for Albrecht/Loys began, Rowan ran out onto the stage with a feeling that he hadn’t felt in two years.

Hope.

\----------

Aelin laid limp on the floor with her eyes closed, her upper body being cradled by Viviane, the older woman playing the role of Berthe, Giselle’s mother.

The curtain closed, and Aelin opened her eyes.

Act I was over.

“Twenty minutes to places!” Amren called from the wings, sending the entire company onstage scurrying back to the dressing rooms to prepare for Act II.

She couldn’t remember anything.

She remembered stepping into the lights of the stage for the first time.

She vaguely remembered landing every jump and turn, and she barely remembered the applause after her variation.

But she remembered Rowan.

She remembered his eyes when he lifted her chin.

She remembered the playfulness in his expressions, a playfulness that was so unlike him that it had made her want to laugh.

She remembered seeing his face during her mad scene, so stricken with guilt and grief – but there was something else in his gaze as well. Something like . . . was it _awe?_

But the last thing she remembered . . .

She remembered, for the first time in two long years, feeling _free._

Suddenly Viviane was offering Aelin a hand getting up. “That was brilliant, my dear,” she whispered in Aelin’s ear with a smile. Aelin nodded her thanks as she turned around to go back to her dressing room.

Rowan stood in the wings, his pine-green eyes burning even as the rest of his face remained inscrutable.

She could only imagine what she looked like. The end of Act I was the famous “mad scene,” in which Giselle goes mad and dies of a broken heart upon learning that her beloved Loys is Prince Albrecht – and is engaged to another woman. Aelin’s hair was down, pulled out of its bun at the start of that scene. A few pieces were stuck together simply from sweat, and her costume was slightly crinkled.

But _gods_ . . .

She felt _amazing._

She let her gaze linger on his for a moment before setting about the next task at hand. She headed in the direction of her dressing room, focusing on calming her breath.

Act II.

\----------

For the first time in two years, Rowan had _fun._

From the moment Aelin bumped into him, the moment he lifted her chin to meet his gaze and something ignited in her turquoise eyes, the last bits of his nervousness flew away. Every time she looked at him was a reminder that he wasn’t alone. And then her mad scene –

Gods.

_Gods above, her mad scene._

Even in rehearsal, it hadn’t been what it had been tonight.

It had been nine minutes of the most raw, visceral dancing and acting he had ever seen.

He remembered what he had shouted at her that night in the studio.

_“The best dancers deal with their problems. The best dancers use their pain.”_

_“You can’t call yourself an artist until you deal with whatever it is that makes regular ballet feel like a cage. I know it’s there.”_

She had proved the him from a few months ago completely wrong with those nine minutes.

And there was still an entire act to go.

Rowan watched from the wings as Viviane helped Aelin up from the floor while the rest of the company scattered to prepare for Act II, and soon Aelin stood alone onstage. Suddenly, she turned to face him.

The stage lights were dim and blue, casting a glow around Aelin’s frame. Her gold hair was completely down out of its bun, a few stray pieces framing her face. Her chest rose and fell in short, labored breaths, but she looked . . . strong. He couldn’t quite make out the expression on her face, but he felt something pull taut between them. With the slightest of nods, Aelin turned to go to her dressing room.

Rowan ran a hand through his hair as he remembered that the hardest parts were still to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY  
> This chapter turned out to be a BEAST; I had to split it into two parts!  
> Enjoy! :)  
> ~ Bellexandra


	12. Giselle: Act II

Aelin couldn’t stop staring.

Even through the sheer veil she wore briefly for her entrance as a Wili, she could see him in the opposite wings.

The deep teal of the tunic, the silver whorls of embroidery on the sleeves, the small accents on the shoulders. . .

No longer a peasant, but a prince.

A prince, but still a man.

Still Rowan.

Who was about to relive the worst parts of his life.

She watched as he picked up the prop bouquet of lilies before slinging his black cloak over his shoulders. Albrecht’s solo walk across the stage would be the hardest for him, when it was just him and the guilt and the grief – both his own and Albrecht’s.

Aelin thought about giving a prayer for him – but who would she pray to? Then again, all the deities had to care for the broken and the grieving in some way, didn’t they?

As her entrance music approached, Aelin sent up a quick prayer before crossing her wrists at the level of her waist. She stepped onstage no longer as a vibrant peasant girl, but as a ghost, forced into a sad, unhappy, lingering existence in death simply because she chose to risk love instead of living without it.

\----------

Rowan watched Aelin as she entered as a Wili, as one of the spirits of a girl who died before her wedding day.

He hadn’t seen her look so vulnerable since that night in the studio when she had cried in his arms.

Now he saw it clearly on her face: the sorrow, the misery, the unhappiness. When Myrtha told her to dance, she whirled furiously before disappearing into the wings.

He heard the soft patter of pointe shoes as the Wilis ran offstage.

And now it was his turn.

The moment he first stepped onto the stage, everything else disappeared, and he was alone with his grief again. The black cloak was suddenly heavy, weighing him down with his own despair, even as he ran a couple of circles around the stage and sent it dancing in the air.

He swallowed thickly as he turned to face the gravestone.

_GISELLE._

It might as well have said _LYRIA._

As Albrecht, Rowan knelt and laid the flowers at the foot of the grave before burying his face in his hands.

_I should have been there._

_It should have been me._

_I could have protected her._

_I could have saved –_

Before his guilt swallowed him whole, there was a flash of white in the corner of his vision.

_Aelin._

Then he was lifting her into the air, light as a wisp of smoke. He was dancing with her, the tone completely different from Act I. Here he was, trying to hold on to something that could no longer be held on to.

In more ways than one.

Before Rowan knew it, he was back offstage in the wings, having chased Giselle’s spirit into the woods.

Rowan made his way to his bottle of sport drink, downing a few swigs. He listened as the music shifted, heralding Hilarion’s impending death at the hands of the Wilis. He passed Dorian, who flashed him a thumbs up just before running onstage.

He headed to the backmost wing –

Where Aelin already stood, waiting for their next entrance.

The _pas de deux_ was next.

Aelin’s tall, lean frame was silhouetted against the blue of the stage lights, and Rowan studied her for a moment. She hadn’t sought him out once while they were backstage. Her focus was unwavering.

But as Rowan’s gaze landed on her right hand, resting against the white of her tutu, he saw it shaking ever so slightly.

She was nervous – and that little shake was all that showed.

Gods, her _strength_.

How long had she gone on with the weight of the world on her shoulders, feeling like she had to do it all herself?

\----------

Aelin’s heart pounded.

The _pas de deux_ was next. The hardest part of the entire ballet for her to get through.

She felt good about the performance so far, but this . . . she had to let it all go. She had to trust herself. She had to trust her partner –

She clenched her fists at her sides, trying to hide their shaking.

Suddenly, a hand closed around hers.

And Aelin’s heart thumped for a completely different reason.

She looked down at the hand that held hers. The hand that had never failed her from the first day in partnering when it touched her.

She trailed her gaze up to Rowan’s face.

His familiar green eyes were soft, catching the blue light that blanketed the stage in front of them. The corners of his lips lifted into a small, warm smile as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Just the touch of Rowan’s hand was enough to stop her shaking.

His smile was enough to drive her demons away.

And the look in his eyes was enough to make her believe she could fly.

* * *

They were almost there.

Rowan ran out onstage to do his thirty-two _entrechat six_ es, the hardest technical part of the entire ballet. Thirty-two jumps, beating his legs three times each jump.

Aelin was transfixed.

He made it look so _easy_.

Not just the _six_ es, but everything.

Everything was easy with him.

Aelin shook herself from her thoughts in time for her last entrance.

\----------

Rowan was _exhausted._

He felt like Albrecht – completely emotionally and physically _drained_.

The bells of the music signaled the impending dawn, saving him and sending the Wilis retreating to their graves, Giselle's love and forgiveness freeing her spirit from eternity as a Wili.

He knew what came next, but this time . . . this time was different.

Her long arms slowly wreathed around him, gently cradling him against her chest, rocking him with a sweetness that he hadn't thought her capable of.

And maybe he was imagining it, but he thought she held him a little tighter than she had in rehearsals.

An unfamiliar warmth spread through him as he realized that here, in Aelin’s arms . . . he felt _safe_.

And even when the Wilis left the stage, when he tried to hold on to Giselle before she vanished, too, when the last picture of the ballet was him completely alone on the stage again – he saw her standing in the wings, in the edge of his vision.

He had told her that she wasn’t alone.

And as the curtain came down, Rowan realized that he wasn’t alone, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY DID IT, GUYS!  
> Thank you all SO much for your patience with this chapter/these 2 chapters, and I hope you enjoy them!!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	13. An After-Party

Aelin was the first to break into applause as the curtains closed with Rowan alone onstage, a single white rose gently dropping from his hand.

He looked completely exhausted – not that she could blame him; he’d just gone to hell and back in two and a half hours.

But he had looked _amazing_.

And everything about the performance left her feeling . . . well, _good._

She had felt Sam’s familiar smile, and he _had_ been with her, even though now – now she felt like she had let him go. And his memory had let go of her, too.

She was beginning to heal.

And as Rowan hurried over to her in the wings to prepare for the curtain call, she knew she wasn’t the only one tonight who had started to mend the pieces of a broken soul.

\----------

After Kaltain bowed as Myrtha, Rowan took Aelin’s hand, the other resting gently on her waist. He led Aelin onto the stage, and the applause was deafening, with intermittent cheers of _brava!_ and _bravo!_

 _We did it_.

Rowan gave Aelin a nudge so she stood slightly in front of him, and expertly, she sank to one knee in a full curtsy.

_She is –_

Eudora walked onstage, presenting Aelin with a massive bouquet of red roses. Rowan led her forward again to bow by herself.

But as she stepped backward once more, she pulled a single rose out of the bouquet and extended it out to him, sinking to one knee in a deep, elegant curtsy, her turquoise eyes shining as she briefly broke his gaze to dip her head to him.

Rowan’s eyes burned.

As she stood up, Rowan took the rose, switching it to his back hand and taking Aelin’s outstretched hand in the other. He extended one leg behind him in a _tendu_ and _pli_ _é_ d on his standing leg in a low bow to her.

He dipped his head and pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

\----------

After a few more bows, the curtains finally closed, and Aelin was swarmed.

Lysandra reached her first, yanking her into a tight hug. “You were _stunning_ ,” she said as Aedion came up to wrap his arms around both of them.

“You both were,” he said before turning fully to Aelin, “but I can’t believe I get to call you my cousin. I’ve never seen you dance like that before.”

Aelin smiled. “Just saving it for a special occasion,” she said.

“And you, sir, were incredible.” Aelin turned to see Dorian take Rowan firmly by the hand and clap a hand on his shoulder.

Was that a swell of pride that suddenly bloomed in her chest? “I appreciate that, Dorian,” Rowan replied with a gracious nod; then his eyes glinted mischievously. “You were great at dying at the hands of dead women.”

Dorian roared a laugh, and the whole group joined in. “Is there any better way to die on stage?”

They all laughed again, and then Eudora approached them. “Get out of those sweaty costumes!” she scolded playfully. “You’ve all got an after-party to attend!”

“Thank the gods,” Aedion grinned. “I am in _serious_ need of a drink!”

Eudora shooed them towards the doors – before turning to Aelin.

Without hesitation, Aelin pulled a rose from her bouquet and handed it to Eudora, curtsying all the way to her knee.

Eudora blinked in surprise. “Whatever is this for?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you,” Aelin replied sincerely. “You believed in me enough to give me this opportunity in the first place, and I . . . I am so, so grateful for it.”

Eudora smiled warmly, a hint of silver glistening in the corners of her eyes. “My dear, there are a great many young women in this world who are capable of more than they think,” she said. “My job is to show you that you are one of them.”

Aelin’s throat bobbed. “Thank you, Eudora.”

Eudora dipped her head. When she lifted it again, her gaze briefly flitted to something over Aelin’s shoulder. “I’ll see you at the party,” she said, making her way to the exit.

Aelin watched Eudora leave through the backstage exit, and she took a breath.

Then she turned to see who had been behind her.

Now, it was just the two of them onstage.

\----------

Finally, Aelin turned to him. Something crumbled in her gaze, leaving only a raw fierceness that contrasted with the silver lining her eyes. She started walking towards him, her pace urgent, and without thinking, Rowan started for her, too.

She flung her arms around his neck, practically leaping onto him, but Rowan caught her.

He always did.

He wrapped his arms around her, matching the tightness of her embrace. “We did it, Fireheart,” he whispered in her ear.

Her arms squeezed even tighter.

She pulled back to look at him, and he brushed away the tear that escaped down her cheek. Her lips broke into a smile, broad and without restraint, and Rowan couldn’t help it.

He laughed.

Aelin started to laugh, too, and he scooped her back into his arms and swung her around in a few circles, her feet lifting off the ground.

“I didn’t know you knew how to laugh!” she said as he set her down gingerly. She winced and protested. “No, _gods_ , pick me up again. My feet are _killing_ me.”

“I haven’t laughed in a long time,” Rowan explained quietly, “because I haven’t been happy in a long time.”

Aelin studied his face. Slowly, she set her hand gently on his chest, right over his beating heart. It was strong, steady. “Are you happy right now?” she asked, her voice betraying the slightest bit of timidity.

Rowan nodded, but he shifted a bit. “That’s what Lyria would want.”

Aelin’s turquoise gaze burned into his eyes, reaching down into his soul, into the core of who he was. “That’s not what I asked,” she said quietly.

Gods, she was good.

But the real answer to that question . . .

“Well, what about you?” Rowan countered. “Are you happy?”

Her hand left his chest, and the disappointment in her eyes – disappointment in _him_ , he realized – suddenly left him cold. “I’m happy and I’m terrified.”

He blinked. “What do you –”

“I’m terrified of being happy,” she said, her eyes growing cloudy and distant. “Being happy means that I’ve let him go. It means that I’ve – that I’m okay with moving on.” Her eyes focused on him again. “But it also means that I’m healing. That I’m beginning to put myself together again, because this,” she said, putting her hand over her heart, “this belongs completely to me again.”

She put her hand on his chest again, and only the beat of his heart beneath her palm reminded him that he was still breathing. “Lyria would want you to be happy, Rowan,” she said. “But you have to let your heart be _yours_ again.” She rose up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck again for one more quick hug. She pulled back, and the breezy smile was back on her face. “See you at the party, okay?”

Rowan made himself smile back. “See you there.” Aelin started to walk away.

He was an idiot.

A rutting, gods-damned _idiot_.

Why couldn’t he have been honest with her?

He knew why.

Because he _was_ happy.

He was the happiest he had been in two years.

And it scared the living hell out of him.

 _You have to let your heart be yours again,_ she had said.

He watched Aelin as she disappeared up the dressing room stairs.

Taking a tiny piece of his heart with her.

\----------

Aelin had gone back to her dressing room, taken off her costume, and rinsed off in the bathroom shower – perks of having a principal role. Now, she stood in front of her dressing room mirror again, wrapped in a towel as she pulled her opening night dress from its zippered garment bag.

She smiled to herself.

She had assumed Rowan was happy, but that was a silly thing to assume when she’d only known him for a few months.

 _She_ was happy, she had done well, and dammit, she was about to have a fantastic night.

\----------

Rowan stood in the grand lobby of the Rifthold Opera House and took in his surroundings. Three chandeliers hung from the ceiling, counterparts to the chandeliers inside the theatre. The grand staircase that led to the upper levels of seating was richly carpeted in deep red. A pair of dark mahogany bars had been set up on one side of the room, and servers clad in white and black uniforms wove through the assembled dancers and patrons, carrying trays of various hors d’oeuvres.

Then he was back on stage, hearing her voice as clear as day.

_I’m terrified of being happy._

He absentmindedly scratched his chest, right over his heart.

He could still feel the imprint of her hand.

_Being happy means that I’ve let him go. It means that I’m okay with moving on._

Why didn’t he just tell her?

“Earth to Whitethorn?”

Rowan’s eyes focused again to see Dorian materialize in front of him. He forced himself to smile. After all, why shouldn’t he be happy? “Sorry, I think I’m just exhausted.”

Dorian chuckled. “After a performance like that, I can understand.” He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “You know you’ve got two more shows to do, right?”

 _Gods, don’t remind me._ “Don’t worry,” Rowan said mischievously, “I wouldn’t dream of robbing you of your death scene!”

Dorian laughed loudly. “Thank the gods for that! You know, when Kaltain gave me that glare tonight, I swear . . .”

The rest of his words were lost as Rowan’s focus caught on a figure over Dorian’s shoulder, a figure standing on the grand staircase.

The breath left Rowan’s lungs.

Her dress was a deep violet with a sweetheart neckline that laid off her shoulders. It cinched at her waist before tapering out to a slight A-line skirt with layers of chiffon, just brushing the floor. He saw the sparkle of simple, silver jewels around her neck and dangling from her ears. She had braided one side of her hair before arranging it so that gold waves flowed from the back center of her head. The makeup around her eyes had lightened from the stage makeup of before, but her lips remained a vibrant red.

Not for the first time that night, he found himself unable to look away.

He heard the sound of clapping. Soon someone else joined in, and then more people, and soon the rest of the room had shifted its focus to Aelin, applauding as loudly as they had at her curtain call.

When a smile spread across her face, she seemed to glow.

Her eyes found his in the crowd, and he felt himself smiling back.

\---------

The applause died down and the chatter resumed. Aelin descended the stairs, and it wasn’t long before the band struck up a smooth swing tune.

She had no idea what to expect from her first real opening night party, but it was as fancy as she’d expected it to be. She loved her dress and felt beautiful in it, which was an important detail. This was still a night where she needed to impress people.

But first, a trip to the bar was in order. She certainly deserved _that_ much.

 _Especially after that talk with Rowan,_ her mind added gently.

Rowan.

She had seen him across the room, and he had smiled at her. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? That they were still okay, even after their conversation?

Aelin arrived at the bar. Well, surely she was going to have to talk to him again, so she might as well have a drink handy while she did. She ordered a sparkling rosé, something that wasn’t too sweet or too dry.

A throat softly cleared behind her. “Going for something lighter tonight?”

Aelin froze.

She slowly turned around. She took in the deep blue suit, expertly tailored for his long arms and broad shoulders. The silver buttons, catching the light of the chandeliers. She found herself staring at his chest, at the spot over his heart where she had put her hand earlier.

Then there were gentle fingers under chin, lifting her face.

Just like the first scene of _Giselle._

And when she was looking into Rowan’s pine-green eyes, she realized just how _handsome_ he was.

How had she never noticed it before?

She smiled at him, gesturing with her head to the bar, gently freeing her chin from his fingers. “You here for a drink, too?”

He ran a hand through his silver hair. “Actually, I’m here to ask you something.” Was he . . . nervous?

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Would you care to dance?”

Aelin blinked. _That_ was . . . unexpected, to say the least.

But as she looked at Rowan standing there, offering her his hand, she could think of nothing else she’d rather do.

She put her hand in his, her glass of wine completely forgotten. “I’d like that very much.”

\----------

Rowan had no idea what he was doing.

He’d seen her walk down those stairs and . . .

He wanted to hold her hand again.

Even if it was just for a moment. For one dance. Nothing that they hadn’t done before in partnering; nothing was different.

Rowan led Aelin to the small space in the foyer that was being used for dancing. He let go of her hand to give her a little bow. For a moment, he was sure she would laugh at him. But to his delight, she dipped her head and returned a curtsy.

The slight blush that crept into her cheeks did not escape his notice.

He stepped forward, putting one hand just under her shoulder blade, his other hand outstretched. She placed a hand onto his shoulder, her other one back to holding his.

They swayed together to the smooth swing music, nothing too complicated. Rowan gave her a spin one or two times, but nothing more. Neither of them knew where to look; looking at each other was just too . . .

Then the band began a soft, slow waltz.

\----------

This was music meant for people who were – well, people who knew what they wanted from each other. People who were on the same side of that line. People who were . . . less complicated than her and Rowan.

She hadn’t danced like that – like _this_ , in a long, long time.

Aelin forced herself to meet Rowan’s gaze. “I . . . I haven’t . . .” She exhaled. “It’s been a while.”

A while since she’d danced like this, to this kind of music.

A while since she’d wanted to.

She didn’t know what to say, what to do, and her vision blurred, though she didn’t know why.

Wordlessly, Rowan moved his hand to the small of her back and bent the elbow of his outstretched hand, gently tugging her closer.

She found herself staring at his chest, unable to bring herself to look into his eyes. She felt the fabric of his suit jacket, smooth against the skin of her arms.

Aelin didn’t know what to think, what to do. She didn’t know a lot of things anymore.

_But this . . ._

His heart was right in front of her, beating underneath the layers of fabric. She wondered . . .

Slowly, she laid her head on his chest, right where she had felt it earlier.

She listened to it beat.

It quickened briefly, before settling into a steady, calm rhythm.

He swayed her gently, back and forth with the music.

Everything else faded away until the only ones in the room were her, Rowan, and the music.

\----------

Rowan willed his heart to stay calm, to not betray how he was feeling. It took all his willpower to keep his hand from combing through the ends of her gold hair.

He looked down at the top of her head, and he had to say something. After earlier, she deserved the truth.

“You asked me earlier if I was happy,” he said.

He felt the slightest stiffening in her lower back, and she lifted her head to look into his eyes.

“The truth is, Aelin, that I’m the happiest I’ve been in two years.”

Aelin’s answering smile was a sunkissed breeze that bloomed in his chest, her turquoise eyes bright and deep.

“That makes two of us, Buzzard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost a month later, and finally an update!  
> I've been working 7 or 8 days in a row, and I've been really exhausted. So to make up for it, here's an extra-long chapter!  
> We're finally through Giselle! On to the next ballet! :)  
> Much love, and thanks as always for reading!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	14. Lines

7:00 AM on Monday dawned bright and early, but blissfully, Aelin’s alarm had not gone off.

After three performances, Eudora had announced that the whole company would be given two days off to recover before the next round of rehearsals began.

So right now, after two more emotional shows of _Giselle_ , Aelin was relishing some dreamless sleep.

Well, except for the three times she dreamed of the dance she had shared with Rowan at the after-party.

_The truth is, Aelin, that I’m the happiest I’ve been in two years._

Warmth spread through her when she recalled the light in his pine-green eyes, the quiet happiness in his expression, the cracks in his walls that he reserved just for her.

There had been a time during one of the performances where she had glanced offstage and had seen Rowan, and there was something like awe on his face.

And for the first time in a while, she though she just might be doing _something_ right.

. . . Was that her alarm going off?

Aelin slowly opened her eyes to see the morning autumn-gold sunlight filtering through the blinds. She smiled and rolled onto her back, stretching her arms over her head and arching her back. She tossed the covers off and stretched again before getting up, glancing a look at her phone clock. 8:15 AM, on the dot.

The group had made plans to have a good, old-fashioned fall day. They’d spend the morning at an apple orchard about 45 minutes away, then come back and bake some fall treats before having a bonfire on the roof.

It was going to be a great day.

* * *

Aelin heard Lysandra call from her bedroom. “What are you wearing?”

“Long-sleeve shirt, cardigan, jeans, and boots!” Aelin called back, getting her selected items from her closet. After her jeans, she pulled on a burnt-orange, long-sleeved shirt, shrugging a knit, light-brown cardigan over it. She topped it off with a cream-colored scarf before taming her long hair into a fishtail braid that laid over one shoulder.

Lysandra appeared in the doorway wearing black leggings, a raspberry-colored tunic top, and a tan vest. “Do you think this is okay?” she asked.

Aelin nodded. “It’s not super cold yet, but there’ll be a breeze since the orchard is a lot of open space, you know? So as long as you’re comfortable.”

Lysandra looked thoughtful for a moment. “This should be fine.” She gave Aelin’s outfit a once-over and smiled. “And you look great, as per usual.”

Aelin laughed, miming tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You know, I do what I can.”

Lysandra laughed as she pulled out her phone, scrolling through some texts. “Aedion and Dorian both say they’re ready. I haven’t heard anything from Rowan since yesterday, though.” She peered at Aelin from under her eyelashes. “I think he’s still coming. Do you want to go bang on his door and see if he’s ready?”

“Sure.”

 _Maybe that response was a little too quick_ . . . Aelin caught the sudden glint in Lysandra’s eye but chose to ignore it.

 _He and I are_ friends, _after all._

_Aren’t we?_

_Yes?_

_Yeah –_

Aelin calmed her racing thoughts. “I’ll go see what’s up,” she said, grabbing her purse as she headed out the door.

“Meet you downstairs in ten,” Lysandra said after her.

* * *

Aelin made her way to Rowan’s apartment. She raised her hand and knocked a few times.

There was a beat of silence before he answered back. “One sec!” She heard his footsteps padding to the door.

Then the door opened.

Aelin sucked in a surprised breath.

Rowan was there, all right, already dressed in jeans.

But he was still missing a shirt.

The first thing Aelin took in were the muscles, sculpted and powerful. His shoulders, his chest, his stomach – did he have an ounce of fat _anywhere?_

Then there was the tattoo.

It was on the left side of his upper body, beginning just below his collarbone before extending onto his shoulder and almost to his elbow. Wicked-looking, it almost appeared to be a language of some kind, an ancient one that she didn’t understand.

It was beautiful.

 _He_ was beautiful.

She felt her fingers twitch, wanting to trace every line, every word –

Rowan inhaled sharply.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. His eyes were wary, guarded – just like when the two of them had first met.

Something was wrong.

“What do you want?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice.

She felt herself wince. “I – I just came to see if you were . . . still coming with us.” She hated how she sounded, but she felt . . . small. Something had set his walls right back up again,

His gaze was still hard, and she could sense his tension. “I’ll be right down.”

“Rowan –”

“ _I said I’ll be right down._ ”

Unbidden, hot tears prickled behind her eyes.

And Rowan shut the door in her face.

Aelin stood there for a moment before hastening down the hallway, scrubbing the tears away.

After the past few months, after the weekend of _Giselle_ , after everything they had shared –

She thought they were friends.

Or even -

Had she . . . imagined it all? The strength of his touch, the warmth of his smile, the light in his eyes?

It was supposed to be a fun day. Now she was heading out to her car with a pit of dread in her stomach.

Oh, _gods._

_What had she done?_

\----------

Rowan stood there for a moment, staring at the door he had just closed.

Right in her face.

He cursed at himself the minute it closed.

She had never seen him shirtless before, which meant she had never seen the tattoo.

The tattoo that remained concealed during class and rehearsals and performances, the tattoo that was for him alone. The tattoo that told the story of Lyria and his failure to protect her, to be there for her.

And when Aelin saw it . . .

She didn’t know what it was, what it said. But she knew that it was another piece of him, something she hadn’t yet discovered.

He had seen her eyes trace every line of it, analyzing and puzzling it out. But there was a softness to her gaze, a softness that made him wonder what he would have done if she had put her hand on his chest again – but on his skin this time, on the piece of the tattoo right over his heart . . .

He had furiously shut those thoughts down, retreating behind his walls once again.

Without even knowing it, she had seen the mistakes and failures that he wore on his skin, the crushing weight that carried with him everywhere – a weight that had lifted over the weekend, when he had danced _Giselle_ with her.

Aelin hadn’t flinched at the sight. She hadn’t flinched at any part of who he was.

And he had shut the door in her face.

 _Coward_. He was a complete and utter coward.

Rowan let out a frustrated groan as he stomped to his bedroom closet, pulling out a simple white t-shirt and a green flannel button-down. He yanked the white shirt on over his head, furiously rolling up the green sleeves of the second shirt to his elbows.

He needed to get himself together. Today was supposed to be _fun_ , wasn’t it?

He grabbed his wallet, phone, and keys, doing his best not to slam the door on his way out. He tried to calm his raging heartbeat as he made his way to the stairwell.

Today had to be a good day. He would _make_ it a good day. For himself, for Aelin, for the people who had welcomed him into their circle and had helped him adjust to life in Rifthold. He owed them that much.

Especially Aelin.

He only prayed that he hadn’t already forfeited the day to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you leave work because you feel lousy? A new chapter, that's what!  
> For you avid Throne of Glass fans, this chapter was inspired by the rooftop scene in Queen of Shadows. :)  
> Coming up next: the orchard trip! Fall is my favorite season, and I wanted to have a bit of fun with the characters doing fall things. But for now, have a hearty helping of angst for Halloween! ^_^  
> Love you all!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	15. Apples and Mazes

Aelin elected to drive to the orchard alone.

She rolled her windows down to feel the autumn wind, letting it swirl her thoughts around her car so they wouldn’t fester in her head.

But they were still there.

_Black ink on tanned skin._

_I said I’ll be right down._

_A door in her face._

She gripped her steering wheel tighter as she tried to calm her mind.

 _What did I do wrong? Was I not supposed to see it?_ What _is it? Why has he kept it a secret?_

Only the sign that read “ARCHERON ORCHARDS” yanked her from the churning abyss of her thoughts. Aelin pulled into the parking space next to Dorian’s car, and she pretended to concentrate very hard on getting her wristlet so she wouldn’t see Rowan pulling in next to her.

As she got out of her car, Aedion and Lysandra strolled over, his arm around her shoulders. “So where to first?” Lysandra asked. “We could pick our apples first, or go on a hay truck ride, or just walk around the pumpkin patch, or –”

Dorian put his hand up in the air. “I vote for the apples,” he said with a grin. “We want the first pick of the day!”

“I’m with Dorian,” Aedion agreed. “I’m in the mood for a killer apple pie later!”

“Sounds good to me,” Lysandra said. She turned to Aelin and Rowan. “What about you two?”

Bitter amusement lashed through Aelin’s chest.

_You two._

_Ha. As though we’re a pair._

_As though I have any idea anymore._

“Fine,” Aelin said, seeing Rowan nod in her peripheral vision.

Lysandra glanced between the two of them. “Well, let’s go then!” she said, reverting back to her sunny self as the group headed towards the orchard entrance.

\----------

Rowan kept a few paces behind the group, trying to give Aelin a little bit of space.

He had seen the tightness that passed over her face when Lysandra said “you two.” Gods, he had managed to make such a huge mess in the span of two minutes.

Suddenly she was rushing for a young woman in a floral-print dress and boots. “Hi, Elain!”

The one who must have been Elain turned and smiled brightly. “Aelin!” She rushed over and pulled her into a tight hug. “I had a feeling that I’d see you this season!”

Rowan watched Aelin’s whole demeanor change as she chatted lightly with Elain. The carefree attitude was back, along with the smile as bright as the autumn sun.

_Did I lose my chance to make her smile like that forever?_

“. . . Rowan. He’s – a fellow dancer.”

Aelin was making introductions. _A fellow dancer. Not even a friend._

_Is that because she’s mad at me, or because she truly doesn’t know that I think of her as a friend? Maybe even –_

“Pleased to meet you, Elain,” Rowan said, managing a small smile.

Elain seemed to study him for a moment. “You must be new then?”

“I am,” he replied. “I came at the start of this season.”

Suddenly, an unfamiliar male voice called out. “Elain! Where do we keep the empty baskets?”

Rowan turned to see the source of the voice. Only a few inches shorter than Rowan, he must have been close to his age. He had a strong, muscular build, and his skin had the tanned look of someone who spent a lot of time outside. The young man ran a hand through his black hair. He surveyed their group, his eyes seeming to take in every detail of every person. “Didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he said. “My apologies.”

“Not at all,” Elain said, flashing the man a warm smile. “Everyone, this is Azriel, my –” She paused, and a blush crept into her cheeks as she held out her left hand. “My fiancé.”

Rowan found himself watching Aelin’s reaction. He saw her left hand tense ever so slightly, but her turquoise eyes . . . a lonely emptiness appeared for a moment so brief he might have imagined it.

But he hadn’t imagined it. He knew her too well.

“Oh my gosh, congratulations!” Aelin said with a smile that barely appeared forced. She turned to Azriel and hugged him. “I trust you know how lucky you are,” she said playfully.

Azriel’s mouth curved into a small smile. “In all honesty, I’m not much of a believer in luck,” he said, taking Elain’s hand gently. “We’ve both been through a lot, and I think we found each other exactly when we were supposed to.”

Elain looked up at him, returning his smile. “We deserve to be happy.”

Rowan froze.

_“Lyria would want you to be happy,” Aelin had said. Only a couple of nights ago._

He felt Aelin’s eyes on him, and he forced himself to meet her gaze. She was remembering it, too.

“Yes,” Rowan said, his eyes lingering on Aelin’s face, “you do.”

\----------

Aelin wondered if he could hear her heart pounding as well as he was able to know what she was thinking.

“Well, we’ve got some apples to pick,” she heard herself say, “so we’ll see you later?”

Elain smiled back. “Have fun!” she said as she and Azriel headed for one of the orchard’s red trucks.

Without waiting for the rest of the group to follow, Aelin set off in the direction of the sign that said “APPLE PICKING.”

Once again, her thoughts were ablaze as she navigated the rows of trees.

_Engaged._

_Fiancé._

_I think we found each other exactly when we were supposed to._

_We deserve to be happy._

Aelin didn’t even realize how fast she was walking until she heard Aedion’s voice. “Would you slow down? This is our day off!”

She composed herself before turning around to see Aedion, Lysandra, Dorian, and Rowan turn the corner into her chosen row of trees. She flashed them a winning smile, hoping they would buy it. “Sorry! But the apples aren’t going to wait forever, you know!”

Dorian looked around. “Do we just grab a ladder and get them?” he asked.

Aedion was already pulling a small stepladder from a stack on the ground. “I think that’s the whole idea of picking your own apples.”

“Here.”

Aelin blinked. Rowan had set up a stepladder already, and he gestured for her to use it. “Thanks,” she managed to say. He nodded before stepping away towards Dorian. Giving her space.

But she wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted.

With a sigh, she took a couple of steps up the ladder, eyeing the apples hanging from the branches. Her gaze fell on a red and yellow apple that didn’t look too far away. She reached up towards it, but it was further than she thought. She took another step up the ladder, reaching as far as she could.

Then her foot slipped.

She was stumbling backwards, falling – until a strong pair of hands steadied her.

“I’ve got you,” Rowan said, low enough so only she could hear. “Trust me.”

Her vision blurred as she remembered the first partnering class they had together, the first time he had ever said those words to her.

Suddenly the sun was too bright, the smell of the crisp apples too much. She needed to get out, find somewhere, _anywhere –_

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?” she blurted, noticing a directional sign pointing towards the corn maze. “I’ll . . . be right back.”

\----------

Rowan wanted to rip out one of the trees by its roots.

One minute she was fine, one minute she almost fell off the ladder, and now she was leaving. She wanted to get away from him.

He watched her gold braid bounce behind her as she all but ran towards the corn maze.

The group turned to Rowan, and he knew they were all wondering the same thing.

Dorian was the one who spoke. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

“Something that I need to make right,” Rowan replied. “If you’ll excuse me.” He set off after Aelin.

He _had_ to fix this.

He couldn’t lose her, too.

\----------

Breathless, Aelin found herself in what must have been the center of the maze. Her vision blurred just as she heard a second pair of feet running, then coming to a stop behind her.

“Aelin.”

Oh, _gods._

The tears spilled over her cheeks, hot and fast.

“Why did you follow me?” she demanded, keeping her back to him.

“So – so you wouldn’t get lost,” he said awkwardly. She didn’t hear him move, didn’t hear him come closer.

“Maybe I _wanted_ to get lost,” she snapped. “Maybe I wanted to lose myself somewhere outside of my stupid head for once.”

He didn’t answer.

“Apparently whatever I do outside of my head ends up being the wrong thing, anyway,” she continued, not caring at all about the torrent of bitterness flooding out of her. She had had enough. “I don’t even know what to do anymore. Maybe I should start shutting doors in my own face –”

“ _Aelin._ ” His voice was rough, but the way he said her name was laced with something else, something Aelin couldn’t name.

“What do you want, _buzzard_?” she asked as she turned to face him. “Haven’t you picked me apart enough today?”

Pain flashed across his face. “I want to apologize,” he said.

Aelin hugged her arms across her chest, holding her elbows. She regarded him for a moment. “I’m listening.”

\----------

This was all his fault.

All of the pain in her eyes, her closed-off posture . . . it was all because of him. Because he was a gods-damned coward who didn’t want to admit how she had managed to change his life. How fast his heart pounded when he was around her. How much hope she gave him.

She was waiting for him to speak.

He met her gaze evenly, forcing himself to take in every detail of her face, how she looked right now. He burned it into his mind, into his memory, feeling his heart crack.

If she ever looked like this again, it would _never_ be because of him.

“I’m sorry for this morning,” he began. “I didn’t think – I shouldn’t have – _gods._ ” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re the first person here to see it,” he admitted.

She blinked, the only indication of any surprise. “I am?”

He nodded. “It’s – well, it sounds strange, but I’m not proud of it.”

“What do you mean?”

He loosed a shuddering sigh. “It’s the story of how I lost Lyria.”

Her eyes widened, a dozen emotions flashing through her turquoise gaze. Confusion, curiosity, sadness . . . but the emotion that settled over her face was understanding.

 _She understood._ Gods, why did he keep underestimating her? Why hadn’t he trusted her with this piece of himself, the story he had etched literally into his skin?

Even now she was quiet, letting him speak as much or as little as he needed to, even though he could sense her curiosity.

So he decided to answer the questions she didn’t feel like she deserved to ask.

 “I got it because I felt ashamed. And it’s a kind of shame that I always carry with me because I . . . I wasn’t there to protect her. I wasn’t there for her.”

Her brow furrowed. “A burden like that, Rowan . . . why would you choose to have that kind of pain weighing you down every day?”

Rowan shifted a bit, feeling the sudden quickening of his heart. He did not break her gaze, hoping she understood what he was trying to say. “Actually, it’s been weighing me down less ever since I came here to Rifthold,” he said quietly. “Since I met you.”

\----------

Aelin wasn’t sure she was breathing, but she remained silent, hoping he would say more.

“I’m sorry for shutting the door in your face,” he continued. “But more than that, I’m sorry for not trusting you. For not trusting that you’d understand.”

“I _do_ understand, Rowan,” she said.

“I know you do,” he answered. “Gods above, Aelin, I know that you do. You’ve trusted me completely with knowing every piece of who you are, and for me to not return that kind of trust, to hold back . . .”

Aelin’s heart cracked as his voice trailed off. She had never seen him look so guilty and ashamed before.

All because he was afraid of how she would react.

Someone like Rowan should never have that kind of look on his face. Not after what he’d lived through. Not with the burdens he forced himself to carry.

She took a small step toward him. “Rowan –”

“You deserve better, Aelin,” he said. “You deserve a better friend than what I’ve been.”

She replied without hesitation. “And you deserve to be happy.”

“So do you,” he replied unhesitatingly, emotion flashing across his face. “I’m going to do better, Aelin. I’m not going to make the same mistakes again. If you have questions, ask and I’ll answer. If you’re afraid, let me crush your fears. If you need someone to yell at, yell at me. If you need someone to calm you down, come to me. If you need a shoulder to cry on, mine is right here. I’m going to be here for you.”

Aelin hadn’t noticed him close the distance between them until those pine-green eyes were all she could see. She felt his fingers grasp her hand gently, just as he had backstage during _Giselle_.

His voice grew quiet, low enough that only she could hear.

“ _I promise._ ”

With those two words, and her hand in his, Aelin could have sworn she felt her world shift ever so slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY THANKSGIVING!! Finally the next chapter!  
> Guys, if I had a normal work schedule at all, I would have a regular posting schedule. Unfortunately, my schedule and days off change every single week, which means that my writing time does, too.  
> I'm so sorry for making you wait after Chapter 14's ending, but I hope this makes up for it!  
> Love you all so, so, SO much!!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	16. What Baking Can Do

“Aelin and I call dibs on making desserts!” Lysandra called over her shoulder as she pushed the apartment door open with her knee, her arms occupied with a basket of apples.

“Why? Can’t we help?” Aedion asked, grabbing the door before it could swing back at Lysandra.

Aelin smirked. “You’re boys. Cook the meat or something,” she said.

“Isn’t that a bit sexist?” Dorian asked, blue eyes glinting with amusement.

Lysandra set her basket down on the kitchen island with a _hmph._ “Aelin, what do you think?”

“I think that it’s not sexist when Aedion cooks some of the best burgers on the planet,” Aelin said, raising her eyebrows at her cousin.

Aedion beamed. “Well, when you put it like that. . .”

Lysandra laughed. “So Aedion’s got burgers, and Dorian?”

“Since I’m a man, I’ll go out to the grill where I belong.” Everyone laughed as Dorian hung his head in mock shame. “But seriously, I’ll do the skewers.”

Suddenly, Aelin’s gaze caught on Rowan, who was already setting out the apples for peeling. With a stab of guilt, she realized that there was one more thing she didn’t know about him: whether or not he could cook. Whether or not he even _liked_ to. “What about Rowan?” Aelin asked. She saw him straighten out of the corner of her eye.

“He could be our floater? Doing a bit of both, helping out with anything and everything?” Lysandra suggested.

Rowan smiled. “That’s fine with me,” he said with a nod.

“Chop, chop, everybody!” Lysandra said, shooing Aedion and Dorian towards the exit that led to the rooftop.

But suddenly, she stopped.

“What is it, Lys?” Aelin asked.

Lysandra blushed. “Well, Aedion doesn’t grill much, and I’ve really been _dying_ for him to teach me his tricks. . .”

Aelin felt her lips tug upward in a small smile. _Oh, isn’t she subtle._ “I’m sure we can handle dessert,” Aelin replied. “Go and let your man teach you his ways.”

“Are you sure?” Lysandra had the nerve to appear concerned.

Aelin knew exactly what her friend was doing. Lysandra, Dorian, and Aedion had all been casting sideways glances in her and Rowan’s direction since they returned from the corn maze. And now, they were trying to give them some time alone to sort out . . . whatever it was.

Bless her friends.

To Aelin’s surprise, Rowan spoke up. “I promise I won’t antagonize her too much,” he said, his green eyes mischievous.

Lysandra, Aedion, and Dorian all shared a look. “Text when you’re about done!” Aedion called over his shoulder as Lysandra pushed him and Dorian out the door.

After a pause, Rowan spoke again. “Okay, so what the hell was that?”

Aelin loosed a breath. “Well, they knew something happened at the orchard this morning,” she said. “My guess is that they’re giving us some time and space to –”

“Work it out,” Rowan finished. His lips tugged into a small smile.

“What is it?” Aelin asked.

He studied her intently, the tentative smile still on his lips. “It’s just nice to have friends that care about you.”

Aelin gave him a small smile in return. “It is.”

They studied each other for a moment.

Then Rowan began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Well, madam, looks like I am yours to command!” He swept into a gallant bow.

Aelin couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips. “Isn’t that how this partnership has always worked?”

Rowan grinned. “Not like I had any say in the matter.”

\----------

_Partnership._

Rowan couldn’t help the grin that split across his face when she had said that word. It meant a return to some kind of normalcy, whatever their relationship was. Friends, he supposed.

He knew exactly what Lysandra was doing. Saying she wanted to learn Aedion’s grilling tricks while in fact giving him and Aelin some time alone.

He liked Aelin’s friends a lot. He was even beginning to feel like they were his friends, too.

The thought caused a warmth to spread through his chest as he turned his attention back to Aelin. “So what are we making?”

She tossed her braid behind her shoulder as she opened a drawer and pulled out a book. “Well, since I don’t know where your talents lie when it comes to the culinary arts, we’ll start with the basics.” She flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for. She held the book out to him with a grin. “Ta-da!”

“Apple pie, huh?” he asked, scanning the page. “I thought you’d go for something . . .”

“Something what?”

“I don’t know, more difficult? Flashier?”

Aelin chuckled. “You know me so well,” she said. She seemed to catch herself before a slight blush crept into her cheeks.

_You know me so well, too._

Rowan’s chest tightened. He cleared his throat, gesturing to the page. “What would you like me to start on?”

“Right.” Aelin turned her attention to the recipe. “Would you mind starting to peel apples while I start on the crust?”

Rowan nodded, giving her a small salute. “Yes, ma’am!” Aelin rolled her eyes at him, reaching for the bin of flour sitting on the countertop.

\----------

Aelin picked up a softened stick of butter and began to cut it into the flour with a knife, making a second pie crust. Absentmindedly, she looked over at Rowan. He was cutting the peeled apples into smaller pieces with a paring knife, placing them into a bowl of cinnamon and brown sugar.

Her gaze wandered to the motions of his hands. With his sleeves rolled up, she could see the muscles in his forearms flexing and contracting as he cut.

She watched his hands.

_They’ve always been there to catch me._

_“Trust me.”_

_“I promise.”_

“Everything okay?”

Aelin blinked. Rowan’s green eyes were trained on her inquisitively. She had been staring, lost in all the memories she had of the past few months. All the memories she shared with him.

She flashed him a sunny smile. “Yep! I think that should be plenty for the fillings,” she said.

“Fillings? Plural?” he asked.

“There’s five of us. Aedion and Dorian will eat one pie between the two of them, so I figured we should make two to be safe,” she explained with a wink.

“So there’s one left for three of us?”

“What, a third of a pie isn’t enough for you?”

Rowan laughed. Actually laughed.

A sound that warmed Aelin’s heart, a sound she would not forget.

He put the last of his apple pieces into the bowl. “I guess that depends on how good the pie is.”

Aelin pretended to be offended. “How dare you question my pie-making skills in my own apartment!”

“Well, add it to the list of things I still don’t know about you.”

He hadn’t meant it to sound bitter, but Aelin immediately felt guilty. How often had she willed others to open up – particularly Rowan – when she herself refused to do the same?

Aelin stopped adjusting the pie crust in its dish at the same moment Rowan realized the uncomfortable silence that followed what he had said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . .”

His voice trailed off. She looked up, and he was looking at her with uncertainty.

Waiting for her to speak.

Just a few hours ago, he had given her his word that he would hold nothing back from her. It was only fair that she do the same.

She matched his gaze, turning around to face him fully. “What would you like to know about me, Rowan Whitethorn?” she asked softly, her heart pounding.

The corners of his lips tugged upward. He ran a hand through his silver hair. “What would you do if I said . . . everything?”

Aelin blinked. _Everything? He – he cares that much?_

_He cares._

Aelin dipped a few of her fingers into the flour bin. “Then I would say . . .” She made her way over to Rowan. “Good things come to those who wait.”

She took a moment to savor the expression on his face, one of relief and happiness.

Then, without warning, she reached up and spread the flour across his face, relishing the surprise in his eyes before she jumped out of his reach. “Like apple pie!”

“Hey!” Rowan laughed and scooped up some sugar, throwing it in Aelin’s direction. She threw her head back and laughed, too, and soon the kitchen became a small war zone as flour and sugar went flying. She started to reach for more flour when Rowan grabbed her hand, yanking it away from the flour – and pulling her straight into his chest.

Suddenly the kitchen was too hot, the space too small, Rowan too close. . .

She could feel his heart pounding, matching the thumping of her own. She was afraid to look up at him, afraid of what she might find in his green gaze.

Afraid of what it might do to her.

So she didn’t look up.

Instead, she looped her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

She felt him stiffen in surprise for a split second, but it soon melted away as his arms encircled her, hugging her just as tightly.

_Trust me._

She _did_ trust him. More than anyone.

And if she was honest with herself, that thought terrified her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

She buried her face into his chest, speaking right into his heart. “Everything.”

\----------

Rowan hadn’t had a roller-coaster day of emotions like this in a long time.

From the frustration, anger, and remorse of that morning – now to laughter and even contentment.

He hadn’t been kidding when he answered her. He _did_ want to know everything about her. Her favorite colors, favorite foods, hopes, dreams, all of it.

He wondered if she knew just how important she was becoming to him.

So when Aelin had wrapped her arms around him, he didn’t even hesitate.

He would keep the promise he made to her that morning. And he poured that promise into his arms, praying that she felt the truth of it all over again.

“Thank you,” he heard her whisper.

“For what?” Rowan asked.

Then she hid her face in his chest, but her heard her speak, right over his racing heart. “Everything.”

She made no move to let go, so Rowan held her for as long as she needed him to. “Aelin –”

A sudden beep startled both of them.

Aelin jumped back, glancing at the source of the sound. “The oven’s ready,” she said a bit sheepishly, pulling on an oven mitt. She turned her back to him as she prepared to put the first pie into the oven. “Could you text Dorian or Aedion and let them know the pies are going in?”

“On it.” Rowan pulled out his phone to text – and was instead greeted by an email notification.

Subject line: _NUTCRACKER._

Rowan tapped on the email, unable to hold his curiosity in. He scanned through the text quickly, but what he was really looking for –

There.

He opened the attachment and scrolled through the list of names. Lysandra and Aedion would be dancing the leads in the Spanish dance, which suited them very well. He kept going to see Dorian’s name listed as the lead Candy Cane dancer. He smiled to himself. _Those three are going to have so much fun._

But where was his name?

He kept scrolling, glancing up to make sure Aelin was still occupied.

Then he saw it. His name was next to the words _Dewdrop Cavalier._

And above his name, next to the word _Dewdrop,_ was the name Aelin Galathynius.

His smile became a grin.

“What are you smiling at?”

Rowan looked up from his phone, quickly thinking of an excuse as he texted Dorian. “Oh, Dorian asking if we could skip dinner and go right to dessert.”

Aelin chuckled. “Well, like I said. Good things come to those who wait.”

\----------

“It’s honestly been months since I’ve had a meal this good,” Aedion said, looping an arm around Lysandra’s shoulders. Dinner was over, and the group was now sitting in outdoor lounges on the roof around a fire pit.

“Don’t you do your own cooking most of the time?” Aelin asked, setting her marshmallow skewer over the fire.

Aedion laughed. “Exactly.”

“And didn’t you cook the burgers?” Rowan asked, taking a swig from his water bottle.

“Well, I like to take a hands-free approach to teaching, so actually, Lys and Dorian did most of the work,” Aedion admitted.

Dorian snorted. “By ‘hands-free approach’ he means ‘I didn’t feel like doing any work.’”

Aelin joined in the laughter before looking around the fire at her friends. They had all come so far and accomplished so much – and they had each other through it all. Her heart swelled as her eyes trailed over each of them. Aedion, Lysandra, Dorian, Rowan –

_Rowan. . ._

“Aelin, your marshmallows!”

Rowan’s voice shook her from her thoughts. Aelin lifted her skewer to see that her marshmallows had indeed caught fire. She smiled; just how she liked it.

She blew the fires out on each of them, shrugging. “What’s the big deal?” she asked, looking at him across the fire. She felt herself grow bold, an edge of challenge creeping into her voice. “Scared of a little fire?”

Rowan met her gaze levelly, green eyes dancing with amusement. “Not in the slightest.”

Something in his voice, in the way his eyes burned into her, seemed to make the fire burn even brighter.

She didn’t take her eyes from his as she pulled a blackened marshmallow off the skewer and popped it into her mouth. “Good.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “In _other_ news,” he said, “have you guys checked your emails?”

Lysandra immediately picked up her phone from its place on a side table. “No, why?”

Dorian grinned. “Nutcracker casting went out!”

“What!?” Aelin’s heart pounded.

The entire circle was on their phones in an instant. Aelin found the email and opened it, starting to scroll through the list.

“We’re doing Spanish together!” Lysandra threw her arms around Aedion, who laughed and hugged her back.

_Still no sign of my name. . ._

“Yours truly is the lead Candy Cane!” Dorian announced proudly, drawing exclamations of praise from the group.

_Where am I?_

“What about you, Aelin?” Aelin looked across the fire to see Rowan looking at her inquisitively, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

Aelin looked down and kept scrolling –

There.

Shakily, she brought a hand to her mouth in surprise.

Dewdrop.

_Dewdrop._

A role she had dreamed about since she was little.

And then there was the matter of the name next to _Dewdrop Cavalier._

Aelin looked back up at Rowan, that small smile now a full, warm grin that was even brighter than the fire.

“Hope you’re not going to get sick of me, buzzard,” she teased.

The firelight danced in his eyes as he lowered his voice so only she could hear.

“Fireheart, I’m never going to get sick of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SON OF A NUTCRACKER AND A MONTH LATER, I'M BACK!!!  
> With a nice, long chapter for you, too!  
> It's only a few days until Christmas and we're just getting to Nutcracker, but I promise it's all going to be worth the wait!   
> Where I work, the holidays are the busiest, craziest time of the year, which sadly doesn't give me much time to write, which is of course what I REALLY want to spend my time on.  
> You all are seriously the best <3  
> ~ Bellexandra


	17. Music of the Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for my delay (again), HAVE SOME SHAMELESS, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF ^_^  
> It's January, I know, but once we get through Nutcracker, have I got some treats for you!  
> This is the guitar version of "Waltz of the Flowers" that I love: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GgC-5HRGvgE  
> And the song that they sing together is "Falling Slowly," a song which I headcanon them both loving: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4LGavEmg6Xs

“Excellent work, everyone, that’s all for today. See you on Monday morning!"

At Eudora’s words, the dancers broke into applause before going to collect their bags to leave. It was only two weeks until _The Nutcracker_ , and Aelin was feeling pretty good about Dewdrop. The choreography was challenging but fun. Rewarding, even.

And, Aelin had to admit, there was no one else she’d rather be dancing her dream _Nutcracker_ role with than Rowan.

Every time they ran through Waltz of the Flowers, his joy matched her own, the smiles on his face genuine and warm.

She hoisted her bag over her shoulder and glanced at him. His silver hair was beginning to grow longer, now touching his ears. He seemed stronger than he was during _Giselle_ , more confident.

As was ballet etiquette, she made her way over to him and curtsied. “Thank you, Rowan,” she said.

“Thank you, too,” he replied with a small bow.

“Aelin and Rowan, could you come here for a second?” Eudora was waving them over. Aelin looked at Rowan, who simply shrugged. They made their way to the ballet mistress, who greeted them with a beaming smile. “I know there are still a couple of weeks until opening night, but I just wanted to tell you two what a beautiful job you’re doing.”

Aelin smiled up at Rowan.

“Waltz of the Flowers was always my favorite part of _Nutcracker_ ,” Eudora continued wistfully. “And to see young, talented dancers like yourselves taking on the challenge of the choreography while becoming a true partnership, and doing it beautifully . . . well, you’re making me very proud.”

Aelin had no idea what to say. Her eyes burned as she gave Eudora a curtsy. “That means more than you know, Eudora.”

Eudora’s focus shifted to Rowan. “And you came here only a few months ago, not knowing anyone at all, and it seems like you’ve friends – and perhaps even a place you belong, hm?”

Aelin read the surprise on Rowan’s face. Eudora had an uncanny ability to know people, sometimes better than they knew themselves.

Rowan dipped his head. “I grow more certain of that every day.”

Aelin’s chest tightened with pride as Eudora glanced between them. “I’ll see you both on Monday, then,” she said as she swept out the door.

Aelin looked up at Rowan again. “Is that true?” she asked quietly.

He smiled at her warmly. He took one of her hands and gently squeezed her fingers. “Every word.” And even when he let go of her hand and left the studio, Aelin still felt the imprint of his fingers around hers.

\----------

Rowan had been sitting on his couch for a half-hour staring at it. He hadn’t touched it yet.

It shone exactly as it did a year ago, its polished surface gleaming in the morning sun that streamed in through his living room window. He had bought it one day not long after Lyria passed, but it had been another few months before he had actually started playing it. He didn’t take lessons, choosing instead to watch videos online.

He hated it when people saw anything he did less than perfectly.

But he was done with secrets. Done with keeping parts of himself hidden.

His walls had been torn down, shredded to pieces by one ballerina. A ballerina who was anything but ordinary.

And he had promised her that there would be no more secrets between them.

But beyond his promise . . . she made him _want_ to start playing again. Feeling and creating music at his fingertips was a feeling unlike any other, and he wanted to feel it again. _She_ made him want to feel it all again.

He wanted to be whole, and ever since she had come dancing into his life, the hollow, empty space in his chest had been filling in, piece by piece.

With a sigh, Rowan reached out and picked up his guitar.

\----------

A beautiful, early winter morning, a day off, and still Aelin found herself in the studio.

She was rehearsing a few Dewdrop passages, and there was one in particular that seemed to be giving her fits today. Eudora had been very complimentary last week; the memory brought a smile to her face.

But today she just felt. . . off. Uninspired.

She headed back to the corner, starting the phrase again. Double _piqué_ turn, _attitude_ , _balancé, balancé, glissade_ into a _developpé_ –

Aelin hopped out of the turn with a curse. She rested her hands on her hips, looking at herself in the mirror.

Wisps of her gold hair had escaped her bun, and a couple drops of sweat were starting to trail down her forehead. She was working hard, and despite the mistakes, she felt good. Strong.

She met her own eyes in the mirror.

In the span of a few months, she now felt the best she had felt since Sam passed away. She was beginning to feel like she belonged exactly where she was. And she knew deep down that she had a silver-haired, tattooed male dancer to thank for a large part of that feeling.

She couldn’t ignore the sudden _thump_ of her heart, as if to confirm it.

Then, for some reason, her gaze flicked over her shoulder in the mirror to the grand piano that gleamed in the corner of the room.

She hadn’t played for the past two years. She hadn’t wanted to.

But maybe that was what she needed today. It was one thing to feel the music in your body as a dancer, but it was another thing entirely to feel it coming from your own fingers.

Aelin made her way over to the piano and sat down. The piano score was conveniently open to “Waltz of the Flowers.”

She slowly slid her fingers onto the ivory keys, gently running them over the surface. She smiled.

“Hello, old friend,” she whispered.

And then she began to play.

\----------

Rowan had been playing for about forty-five minutes now.

And gods, he felt so unbelievably _good_.

He didn’t even think about the songs he was playing; the music poured from his fingertips, finally released from being bottled up for the past two years.

He had texted Aelin not too long ago. _What’re you up to?_

When he hadn’t gotten a response for a while, he put his guitar back in its case, sending one more text. _I’m heading to the studio. I’ll be there in 10 if you want to join me!_

He wanted to dance now, while he was feeling so creatively rejuvenated and reinspired.

And if she happened to be there . . .

Well, in all honesty, he didn’t know.

But it always seemed to be better when she was there.

* * *

Rowan opened the main door of the studio building, and the first thing he heard was the faint sound of piano music. He recognized it immediately as “Waltz of the Flowers”; maybe one of the accompanists was practicing?

He couldn’t help the small twinge of disappointment. If there was someone else at the studio, Aelin wouldn’t be here. She liked the place to be completely empty while she danced whatever she needed to dance.

_But you’re the exception, aren’t you?_

Fighting a smile at the thought, he headed upstairs to the studios. The piano music grew louder as he neared the first studio, but suddenly, it stopped.

Rowan stopped, too.

Then the music began again.

Only a few chords in, and Rowan recognized the music immediately.

Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.”

He had always enjoyed the piece, but whoever was in the studio playing it right now clearly _loved_ it. The notes flowed into and over each other like water, emotion poured into each phrase.

It was the most beautiful rendition he had ever heard.

Quietly, Rowan crept forward so he could see who was sitting at the piano.

And there she was.

He hadn’t told her about the guitar, and she hadn’t told him about the piano.

But there Aelin sat, her head bowed in concentration. Her long, elegant fingers tumbled over the keys, and Rowan seemed to feel each note curling into his chest and warming the winter’s morning chill.

Something lightly landed on his sleeve. He tore his gaze from Aelin to glance down at a small water stain.

His eyes welled, and he tried to bury the feeling back inside, but it was no use. There were no walls to hide behind.

For the first time in two years, Rowan Whitethorn let the tears fall.

\----------

“Clair de Lune” had always been one of her favorites. But there was something about today that made it feel especially comforting. Inspiring, even.

Then she realized that she was playing the entire piece with her eyes closed.

She played the last few bars, letting the music curl around her before it disappeared.

She opened her eyes, and when she looked down at the keys, she saw several drops of water.

She lifted a hand to her eyes, and those were indeed her own tears that had fallen.

Whatever just happened, whatever she had just created with nothing more than her fingers and her heart, was exactly what she needed.

She smiled and took a deep, cleansing breath. She stood up from the piano bench and rolled through her feet in their pointe shoes.

Now she was ready to dance.

She went back over to the stereo and picked up her phone where it was plugged in. But before she could press play, a strain of music started up behind her.

It was the opening to “Waltz of the Flowers” . . . but played with a guitar.

_A guitar? Who would possibly play guitar around here, much less in the studio on an off morning? What on earth –_

Then she turned around.

And the breath left her lungs.

It was _him_.

He was casually leaning against the wall as he played, a beautiful acoustic guitar in his arms and a tentative, warm smile on his face. Silver lined his eyes – _has he been crying?_

Aelin felt herself return his smile, dipping her head ever so slightly. Wordlessly, she launched into her Dewdrop choreography as Rowan kept playing.

Soon Rowan joined in, marking through his choreography as best he could while holding a guitar. With his movements, the music came from all around her, and she couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of her. With surprise, Rowan joined her laughter as he kept dancing around her with his guitar.

They danced closer and closer, until all too soon, the “Waltz” was over, and Aelin found herself in an _arabesque_ with one arm looped around Rowan’s shoulders, her other arm above her head in fifth.

Rowan’s green eyes were inches from hers.

It was the same feeling she had when they were baking a few days ago, when the distance between them had suddenly become too close for her to breathe.

But today . . . it didn’t feel too close.

As if he knew her thoughts, his gaze flicked to her lips, returning to her eyes so quickly she thought she had imagined it.

_Was he . . . would he . . ._

Aelin released her position, lifting her arm off of Rowan’s shoulders. “You play guitar,” she said, more of a statement than a question.

He shrugged. “You play piano.” He turned his attention to his guitar, fiddling with the strings. “And you play it beautifully,” he added.

Aelin felt the blush rise to her cheeks. “Well enough to make a grown buzzard cry?” The words were out before she could stop them. But she wanted to know – were those really _tears_ she had seen in his eyes?

Rowan stilled.

She had pushed too far; that was a horribly rude question, especially after he had shown this new side of himself to her. But he looked up from the guitar, his gaze soft, a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

He answered.

“Well enough to make a grown buzzard cry for the first time in two years.”

She looked at him for a moment. _Really_ looked. “Rowan,” she breathed softly. _Two years since he's shed a tear._

He sighed slowly, his content smile lighting up his eyes. “Fireheart.”

Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. She turned quickly to avoid his searching gaze, making her way back to the piano. She sat down again, wracking her brain for something to play, something that she could use to tell him . . .

_Well, tell him what, exactly?_

She plunked a C on the keys, then an F below it, going back and forth between them. Then it became C, F, D, F, E, F, D, F. If she didn’t know what to play, her fingers certainly did. Because the notes she was playing composed the very recognizable opening to –

“ _I don’t know you, but I want you all the more for that._ ”

Rowan was _singing_. He knew the song, and he was _singing_.

Without even thinking, Aelin opened her mouth and added a simple harmony, joining her voice with his.

“ _And words fall through me and always fool me, and I can’t react._ ”

Rowan lifted his guitar and added his music to hers, along with his voice.

His music was what her music needed.

 _He_ was what she needed.

From the moment he had entered her life, he had been exactly what she needed.

But as she kept playing and singing, alternating her gaze between the piano keys and Rowan’s eyes, she wondered if maybe he was becoming not just what she needed. . . but what she wanted, too.


	18. Two Waltzes

It was the second week of the _Nutcracker_ run, and Aelin was loving every second of it.

It was a bit chaotic, since the cast was so large, but it was the kind of chaos she relished. Dancers scrambling to get to their places, the orchestra tuning up, the steady murmur of the audience before the curtain, last-minute costume fixes, extra pins in hairpieces for good measure.

Then, when the curtain rose and the lights warmed the stage . . . she was free.

Aelin was stretching in her dressing room, her hair and makeup already done as the beginning notes of the overture came over the backstage audio monitors.

Suddenly, the door to her dressing room opened, and Amren appeared, wearing her headset and her backstage black outfit. Her usually calm, cool grey eyes were now filled with worry.

“Amren, what is it?” Aelin asked, her heart suddenly pounding.

“Do you know the Snow Queen choreography?”

Her heart pounded harder, already knowing where this conversation was going. “Yes, I do.”

“I need you to go on tonight.”

While her emotions whirled in protest, her head immediately knew what this was.

An opportunity.

So she didn’t ask questions.

Instead, she stood up from her yoga mat and nodded.

“Where would I find a costume?”

\----------

When he was in Doranelle, _Nutcracker_ was just another performance for Rowan. Another part of the routine, something else on his to-do list. The last hurdle before the holiday break.

But this time, with the Rifthold company – it was different.

In the best ways.

Here in Rifthold, _Nutcracker_ was important. It wasn’t a community obligation, it was valued. Rehearsals were just as intense as they had been for _Giselle_ , even with the children of the company school involved. But everyone was smiling, lost in the joyful chaos.

Rowan stood in the hallway at one of the barres to finish his warmup, dressed in a deep green track jacket and a pair of black sweats over the tights of his costume. He heard the music of the battle scene wafting over the monitors, letting him know he still had a bit of time before he had to get his Dewdrop Cavalier tunic on.

_Even as he thought the word “Dewdrop,” her smile flashed through his mind –_

As the battle scene music came to its end, Rowan found himself wandering down the hallway to the backstage area. It had been a few nights since he had watched the snow scene, one of his favorites in the entire ballet, so he might as well take the time to watch it tonight. As he rounded the corner to backstage, Amren was just getting back to her stage manager podium. _Where was she?_ he wondered. It wasn’t like Amren to leave her post; she was the most dedicated, focused stage manager he had ever worked with – and sometimes, he had to admit, she was a little frightening.

If she had left backstage, something must have happened. And it wasn’t good.

Rowan began to scan the wings, looking for anything amiss, for any signs of panic or anything that stood out from the usual chaos.

As he looked around, the Snowflake _corps de ballet_ began to make their way past him, their sparkling white and blue knee-length tutus looking light and airy. Nothing seemed unusual, but there was a tenseness to the atmosphere that hadn’t been there the entire run. As the Snow music began, Rowan scanned the dancers, but everything looked fine. They were all smiles, their costumes glittering under the stage lights as they danced.

Then the Snowflakes scattered offstage, making way for the Snow Queen’s entrance.

And enter she did, her tutu and crown shining as brilliantly as the cool, calm joy in her turquoise eyes.

He had to stop his jaw from hitting the floor.

Gods above, it was _Aelin._

She was a living snowflake, whirling across the stage with a speed and precision that reminded him of her Odile variation those months ago, a playful smile on her lips.

She had gotten even better without him even noticing.

Before she left the stage again, Rowan hid himself around the corner from Amren’s spot, thankful he was wearing dark colors. He wanted to watch Aelin in her element – and she was certainly in her element right now.

Before he knew it, the snow scene was almost over, which meant that the paper snow had begun to fall from the catwalks above the stage. And dancing in the snow, Aelin looked even more beautiful.

His chest swelled with pride as the curtain came down.

He snuck out of the backstage area quickly and quietly back to his dressing room to get his tunic on, but he joined in the applause that echoed in the hall on his way.

\----------

“What the _hell_ just happened?” Aelin said to Lysandra as they made their way back to change for Act II.

“You were gorgeous, that’s what!” Lysandra said, taking the bobby pins out of her Snowflake headpiece. “Do you know what happened to the original understudy?”

Aelin shook her head. “Amren didn’t say. She just asked if I knew it, I said yes, and here we are.”

“And . . . how did it feel?”

“Honestly?” They were back in the dressing room now, and Aelin turned around to let Lysandra undo the hooks and eyes on her tutu. “It felt amazing.”

“I saw Aedion and Dorian watching, but I didn’t see Rowan.”

Aelin hid the slight disappointment from her voice. “Oh.”

“I bet he would have been proud though.”

Aelin smiled to herself, even though something like that shouldn’t matter.

But she knew that he _would_ have been proud of her – so it mattered.

* * *

Aelin made it onstage with a few minutes to spare to warm up, dressed in her short, pale blue Dewdrop dress and headpiece. She found Rowan already there, doing a few warmup jumps. She let herself admire the way he looked in his matching blue tunic before approaching him.

He turned to see her there. “Hey,” he said with a smile. “How do you feel today?”

She decided not to say anything about doing Snow Queen. “Really good, actually. I’m ready.”

He chuckled. “You always are.”

Aelin felt the slightest blush rise to her cheeks, and she was grateful that her stage makup hid it. “What do you need to practice?”

He thought for a moment. “Let’s just do the pirouette sequence into the lift?”

Aelin nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

She made her way to her starting position, careful not to get in any other dancers’ ways. She did her _piqué_ turns and double stepovers, the last of which ended right in front of Rowan. His hands caught her hips on her last turn, adding more rotations. Finally, when she stopped, they _plié_ d together before Rowan lifted her straight above his head, turning around as he did.

Perfect.

_Had it ever been anything less when she danced with him?_

He set her down gently, carefully. “How was that?”

She smiled. “Great as always.”

He smiled back, and her heart flipped. _Stop that_ , she told herself. “Anything else you need from me?” he asked.

 _If only I knew the answer to that question._ “I’m good if you are,” she replied.

“Places!” Amren called from the wings. “Places for the top of Act II!”

“You ready?” Aelin whispered to Rowan as they made their way offstage.

“Of course,” he said. Then his green eyes grew mischievous. “But let’s be honest: when I’m with you, Aelin, I don’t really have a choice but to be ready, do I?”

With a quiet laugh, Aelin nudged him with her elbow. “You never had a choice to begin with.”

* * *

Everything was going perfectly.

As always – when she was with Rowan.

She spun, and he was there.

She leapt, and he tossed her higher, always there to catch her.

So she let herself dance freely, uninhibited and unafraid – because she wasn’t alone.

As they approached the end of Waltz of the Flowers, she came out of a _soutenou_ into Rowan’s waiting arms. As he dipped her to the side, she heard his voice, quiet so only she could hear.

“You make a beautiful Snow Queen,” he whispered.

She felt her eyes go wide.

_He had watched her after all._

_He saw her._

She blinked back the burning in her eyes as she did the last _balancés_ with the rest of the Flower _corps_ , ending the piece in an arabesque with one arm around Rowan’s shoulder.

He smiled at her softly, again speakly quietly as the audience applauded.

“But you make an even more beautiful Dewdrop.”

\----------

Lysandra stood next to Aedion in the wings, the two of them already dressed in their Spanish costumes for the finale. They were watching Flowers – or more accurately, Aelin and Rowan.

She had never seen two people dance together like they did.

They trusted each other so completely, and because of that, they were able to dance without restraint. She could have sworn that they even breathed the same when they were together.

She wondered –

“New Year’s,” Aedion whispered, yanking her from her thoughts. “They’ll be together by then.” So he saw it, too.

Lysandra shook her head. “I think she’s scared,” she said just as quietly. “She doesn’t want to have someone in her life only for him to disappear.”

Dorian appeared beside them, clad in his Candy Cane costume with his hoop slung over his shoulder. “He’s scared, too,” he said. “I think he doesn’t feel worthy of her or something. The whole thing with Lyria must have completely shattered him.”

“Don’t you remember how Aelin has been for the past two years?” Lysandra asked. “It _destroyed_ her.” She looked back onstage, watching Rowan toss Aelin into the air before catching her effortlessly. “But look at them now. They’re healing, and they’re healing each other.”

Aedion looked at them, too. Two broken pieces that fit together so perfectly. He shrugged. “Well, ten bucks it happens by the spring show.”

Lysandra and Dorian both looked at him quizzically. “What’s the spring show?” Dorian asked. “It hasn’t been announced yet.”

“It’s going to be announced at the closing night party,” Aedion said. “But I got to talking with Eudora the other day, and she told me what it is. And if I tell you, you guys can’t tell _anyone_ until then. Not even Aelin and Rowan.”

When he didn’t continue, Lysandra hissed, “So what _is_ the spring show?”

Aedion’s lips twitched into a mischievous grin as his gaze drifted back to Dewdrop and her Cavalier. He dropped his voice barely above a whisper.

“ _Romeo and Juliet_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you know where we're going next! My favorite ballet! :D  
> I know this story is slow going, and I wish I had consistent days off to work on it; but we can't always get what we want, huh? But in the meantime, I just want to let you all know how much your comments and kudos mean to me. This endeavor has been the first time in my life that I've put my writing out into the world, and for it to be received like it has been honestly makes me want to cry with happiness.  
> I love you all so much!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	19. A Night of Surprises

“So wait, the closing night party and the company Christmas party are combined?” Lysandra asked as she and Aelin signed in backstage. It was late Sunday morning, and there was one matinee performance of _Nutcracker_ left.

And if Aelin was honest, it was over much too soon.

Aelin scanned the bulletin boards. There were no surprise replacements today; she and Lysandra were only doing their given parts.

She still daydreamed about her sudden Snow Queen debut. She had almost laughed out loud when the snow had started falling, leaving her dusted with tiny paper flakes as she danced.

And then Rowan had suddenly told her that he had, in fact, watched.

_“You make a beautiful Snow Queen.”_

_“But you make an even more beautiful Dewdop.”_

Her heart suddenly quickened as she remembered it all.

 _Stupid girl_ , she thought. _That was entirely professional. He was just complimenting you._

People complimented her all the time.

_But it’s only Rowan’s compliments that matter, isn’t it?_

“Aelin?”

Aelin realized she had stopped short, staring into the bulletin boards without caring about their contents. Her head – and her heart – had been thinking of Rowan. _Stupid girl,_ she chastised herself. “Yeah, since we get a couple of weeks off right after today, we get one last hurrah as a company before whatever hurdles they decide to throw at us in the spring.”

Lysandra stopped. “Where are you going?”

“Up to the dressing room?”

Lysandra pointed to Aelin’s hand. “But why the _stairs?_ ” she whined.

Aelin grinned, pushing open the door to the stairwell. “It’s the last show of the calendar year, Lys!” She started up the stairs at a half-running pace, taking off her gloves and hat as she ascended. “Go big or go home!”

\----------

Rowan had gotten to his dressing room rather early today, even for him.

He wanted today, the last show of the run, to be perfect.

But in all honesty, he couldn’t think of a single moment where it hadn’t been perfect.

Part of him knew that he had Aelin to thank for a lot of it . . . and he felt like he couldn’t possibly do enough to thank her.

That was _maybe_ the reason why he was so early.

But now, he laid on the floor in his dressing room in his warmups, rolling out his muscles as some music from his phone played in the background.

The next song came on the shuffle.

It was “Clair de Lune.”

Rowan hugged one knee to his chest, stretching the other one out straight on the floor. He closed his eyes, and Aelin immediately appeared, her gold hair and brilliant smile banishing the darkness as her fingers ran across the keys.

He needed to sort himself out.

_How do I feel about her?_

_She’s my partner._

_She’s my friend._

_She . . ._

He switched legs, taking a deep breath.

_I can’t. I can’t go down that road again. Not when she deserves so much more than the broken man that I am._

Her fingers were replaced by the image of her crying, falling apart in his arms when she was running through _Giselle_.

_But don’t you remember? She’s just as broken as you are._

_That doesn’t mean I’m any more worthy –_

Rowan sat up suddenly, his eyes wide open.

_Wait, what am I thinking? Am I seriously considering . . . do I care about her?_

_As more than just a friend?_

With a shake of his head, Rowan flopped back onto his yoga mat.

_Gods, I’m in trouble._

\----------

“Aelin, I hate you!”

Aelin laughed as she called behind her to Lysandra. “It was four flights!”

“Four flights that I didn’t need!”

“At least your cardio warmup is done!”

Lysandra groaned dramatically as Aelin heard her door shut. Still laughing quietly to herself, Aelin opened the door to her own dressing room. She reached around the corner to flip the lightswitch.

The warm mirror lights came on, bathing the room in a soft, yellow-gold light.

And that golden light revealed a bouquet of flowers on her counter.

It was a beautiful arrangement of blue hydrangeas and small white roses, sitting in a pine-green vase. Upon closer inspection, the bouquet actually _sparkled_ – with thin stalks of crystal dewdrops, she realized with a delighted gasp. It matched her short Dewdrop dress perfectly.

Aelin wandered closer, her breath taken away. She reached out her hand and gently caressed the petals, wondering who on earth had been so thoughtful.

Then her fingers touched something firm.

Her heart raced as she pulled a small, rectangular card from the bouquet.

Her eyes burned, her vision blurring as she read it with a wide smile.

_To my Fireheart._

\----------

Dancing with Aelin reminded Rowan why he loved dancing at all.

This last performance had gone by too quickly, “Waltz of the Flowers” over too soon. He could have danced _Nutcracker_ for months if it meant dancing with her every night, sharing the joy and the genuine smiles that only arise from genuine happiness.

Now, he stood onstage beside Aelin and the rest of the company, the curtain having just come down on their final curtain call. The audience hidden from view, the dancers all let out joyful hollers and hugs, some tears being shed.

Aedion grinned as he threw his arms around Lysandra. Dorian was being clapped on the back by a brown-haired young man that Rowan didn’t recognize. Flowers and snowflakes and candy canes whirled around him. And Aelin –

Aelin still stood in her spot from curtain call, gazing at the back of the red curtain with her customary featured-role bouquet in her arms. Her blue costume and matching tiara sparkled in the last of the stage lighting, framing her body in an almost ethereal glow.

Rowan’s breath caught.

_Gods, she’s beautiful when she’s not even trying to be._

As if she sensed him there, she spoke.

“There’s nothing like it, is there?” She turned around to gaze at the scene on stage, at the dancers congratulating themselves and each other. “When you’re onstage doing what you love. When everything else fades away. . . and all that’s left is the music and you.” She turned her turquoise gaze to him.

His heartbeat quickened. _Was she talking in general, or – about me?_

He nodded in agreement, stepping closer to her. “I had almost forgotten what that feeling was,” he admitted, matching her gaze. His voice dropped so only she could hear. “And then I met you.” He smiled. “And I remembered.”

Aelin’s eyes shone with silver, and she smiled right back. “So did I.”

With her free hand, she reached up to her hair, gently weaving something out of her headpiece.

A short strand of crystal dewdrops.

From the bouquet he had left on her dressing room counter.

He was speechless as she extended it out to him, almost shyly. He took it from her, her slender fingers lighting brushing his. “See you at the after-party, buzzard.”

\----------

Aelin was soaring.

Between the dancing and the close friends that stood beside her, life was finally beginning to look up. For the first time in two years, she felt hope. Hope that the worst was finally over. Hope that she was really, truly healing.

And Rowan Whitethorn, she admitted to herself, was perhaps the biggest reason for that.

She replayed his words over and over in her head, holding them tight.

_And then I met you. And I remembered._

“What’s that grin for?” Lysandra asked. “You’re not drunk already, are you?”

“Come on, Lys, I don’t keep alcohol in my dressing room!”

“Okay, fine, so you’re not hiding alcohol. Just the finest pieces in your extensive wardrobe,” Lysandra said, giving Aelin’s cocktail dress a once-over with a whistle. The closing night party wasn’t as fancy as the opening night ones, and this was really only for the company members. “How come I’ve never seen this one before?”

Aelin laughed and looked at herself in the mirror, giving a little twirl. In fact, this _was_ a new dress, one she had gotten specifically for tonight. “You know I’m always prepared for situations that require dressing up.”

The dress was deep red and knee-length. Gold, shimmering embroidery in a floral pattern crossed from her right hip to form the single strap that went over her left shoulder. She had let her hair down from its bun and pinned the sides up, leaving two small pieces to frame her face while the rest tumbled down her back. She wore some strappy gold heels to match – gold ballroom dance heels.

Just in case.

Aelin grinned at her reflection. “There’s never any harm in looking good, is there?”

* * *

“What a pretty bunch of people, huh?” Lysandra remarked as she and Aelin entered the party. This party was held in one of the opera house’s smaller side rooms, since this was exclusively for the company and production staff. There was no band, just a computer in the corner playing Christmas classics. The atmosphere was warm and festive, and Aelin made her way through the smiling faces to the bar, ordering a glass of sparkling white wine. She lifted it to her lips –

“Are you actually going to drink that this time?”

She smiled at his familiar voice as she purposely took a long sip. “That’s my plan, yes.” She turned to see Rowan standing there holding a wine glass of his own. He looked effortlessly handsome in a pair of black dress pants, a black vest, and a grey dress shirt with the top buttons open, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

_Well, damn._

His green eyes studied her.

“What is it?”

The edges of his mouth curved into a small, almost shy smile. “You look beautiful tonight, that’s all,” he said, taking a sip of his wine.

Aelin felt a blush immediately rise to her cheeks. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” she replied, enjoying the look of surprise in his eyes as they looked up from over his glass. “From hating each other to complimenting each other in just a few months, huh?”

Rowan chuckled quietly, a warm sound that made Aelin’s chest flutter. “Hatred to friendship.” He lifted his glass, his eyes never leaving hers. “How about a toast to that?”

Aelin smiled. She lifted her glass. “To us.”

For a second time, surprise lit his eyes, along with a warm happiness that threatened to send Aelin’s heart bursting from her chest. He clinked his glass against hers. “To us,” he repeated, and the two of them finished their glasses. Rowan politely took her empty glass and set it back on the bar, along with his own.

They began to make their way through the crowd towards Aedion and Lysandra. “Do you have any plans for Christmas?” Rowan asked.

“Nothing’s set yet, but we usually do something together. Me, Aedion, Lysandra, and Dorian,” Aelin clarified. Then she saw Dorian standing off to the side of the room, talking to the white-haired pianist again. Manon. “Though maybe we’ll have more joining us this year.”

Rowan followed her gaze. “Ah, yes, I’d noticed that.”

“Would you like to join us?” she asked suddenly.

“Me?”

“Of course! You’re –” She stopped short. She was about to say _family_ , but Rowan. . . “You’re my best friend.”

His eyes softened. “I’d be honored, Aelin,” he replied.

Suddenly, a loud clinking rang out, and the room hushed. Eudora stood in the center of the room with her own wine glass, and the dancers gave her some space.

She began her speech. “First of all, I would like to personally thank each and every one of you for your hard work these past months. Both _Giselle_ and _Nutcracker_ were huge successes, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

The dancers applauded before she continued. “Before we formally conclude this half of the season, there are two people I want to welcome.” She let her words sink in. “The first is a welcome _back_ , actually. “Mr. Westfall?”

Aelin looked to where she beckoned, and sure enough, a familiar figure stepped through the door and into the room.

_Chaol._

The last time she had seen him, about a year ago, it was unknown if he would ever walk again.

But now he strode into the room, no trace of a limp at all.

The room burst into applause, and Aelin saw Dorian immediately step forward to embrace the man who was like a brother to him. Chaol returned his embrace, his eyes misty.

“And Chaol isn’t alone,” Eudora continued as the applause died down. “I would also like to extend a warm welcome to our new physical therapist, Yrene Westfall.”

A lovely young woman stepped into the room, dressed in a deep purple cocktail dress. Her hair was a long mass of gold-brown curls, and her eyes were a rich honey-gold.

_Westfall._

_Yrene Westfall._

_Chaol got married!?_

Aelin grinned as she joined in the applause, hers perhaps the most enthusiastic of all. He deserved it. He deserved to be happy, the kind of happiness he would never have had with her. They were both very different people now, and life brought them exactly what they needed. Chaol had Yrene, and Aelin had –

Aelin’s thoughts stopped for a moment. She couldn’t say Rowan; he was her best friend.

_Is that all?_

_Yes,_ Aelin said firmly to herself. _What is it that I’ve got?_

She looked at Chaol and Dorian, and Aedion and Lysandra.

At Rowan.

_I’ve got a family._

“I’m also delighted to announce that Chaol will be returning to the stage in the first show of the spring,” Eudora said, that mischievous glint shining in her silver eyes; she knew full well that they were all waiting for this announcement. “And that show will be . . .” She paused, one final moment of dramatic effect. And Aelin could have sworn that Eudora’s gaze lingered on her for half an extra moment as she said three simple words.

“ _Romeo and Juliet._ ”

Aelin’s eyes burned. She had so many wonderful, beautiful memories attached to _Romeo and Juliet_. Memories that reminded her of home – in more ways than one.

_Home._

She looked up at Rowan, who looked down at her at the same time. In the commotion of the room’s excitement, somehow her hand had found his. She smiled, and he smiled back.

And in that moment, that was all they needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprises and fluff, surprises and fluff. . .  
> Writing a new chapter was my way of rewarding myself for finishing internship applications, and I enjoyed this chapter a lot (clearly, since it's a bit longer lol)! Plus our favorite pair of Westfalls has arrived on the scene!!! I've had it planned for a while, but it's nice to finally bring them in!  
> So now you know: we're heading for Romeo & Juliet, but first, we've got Christmas! :)  
> Until next time! Thanks as always for your lovely comments! I love you all so, so much!!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	20. With a Little Help

It was a picture-perfect winter morning.

Aelin had opened her blinds to see everything covered in a layer of white, and snow still fell gently from the sky.

Aelin lay on the floor of her bedroom, doing her morning stretches on her yoga mat while some soft piano music played quietly from her laptop speakers. After _Nutcracker_ , the dancers had a few weeks off for the holidays before the season started back up in January. Most dancers went on vacation or home to see their families, but Aelin and her friends . . .

Well, they were their own sort of family.

The thought always made Aelin smile.

There was a soft knock on her bedroom door. “Yeah, Lys?” she called back.

Lysandra opened the door and came in. She was still in her pajamas, her chestnut hair in two French-braided pigtails. And in her hands were two steaming mugs. “I come bearing coffee!” she beamed.

Aelin grinned as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. She took one of the mugs. “Best roommate ever.”

“Oh, I know.” Lysandra clinked her mug to Aelin’s before taking a sip. “Cheers to Christmas break!” Aelin grinned and took a sip, too.

“So,” Lysandra began, curling her knees to her chest, “how are you feeling?”

“About. . .?”

Lysandra shrugged. “Well, Chaol being back and, you know, married.”

Aelin thought for a moment. “Honestly, I was glad to see him,” she said. “He looks better than he did before – you know, everything. Yrene’s probably been good for him. And I hope whatever he’s capable of doing now makes him happy.”

“Wow.”

Aelin looked up to find Lysandra’s eyes intent on her. “What?”

“You’ve grown and changed so much in the past two years, you know that?” Seeing the surprise on Aelin’s face, she quickly continued. “In a good way. In a _great_ way, actually.” She smiled. “Makes me proud when I watch you in class and I can say ‘Hey, that’s my best friend!’”

Aelin put an arm around her, hugging her tightly. “Aww, Lys!”

“And speaking of best friends, how’s Rowan?”

Aelin stiffened ever so slightly – and she knew Lysandra felt it. “He’s fine. Good. Why do you ask?”

Lysandra scooted herself to lean against the wall, sitting across from Aelin. “Just asking, since the two of you seem to be pretty close now.”

“Lys, come on. What is it you really want to know?”

“When you’re going to figure out how he looks at you.”

“. . . what –”

“And how you look at him.”

Aelin felt her heart start to beat a little faster. “What do you mean, how I look at him?”

“Aelin.” Lysandra set her mug on Aelin’s end table, her attention completely on Aelin now. “It’s been two years. Two years since you’ve really opened up to anyone else. And now, in just a few months, I’ve never seen you so . . . free.”

Aelin was silent. She rested her head against her bed and gazed above Lysandra’s head, out the window at the snow-covered world.

She _did_ feel free.

The past few months felt like a stormy wind had blown through her heart; the clutter of grief and loneliness had been swept away, the walls knocked completely down.

She finally had space in her heart to be herself.

She felt it when she danced, that freedom Lysandra mentioned.

By _Giselle_ , that stormy wind had become a gentle, soothing summer breeze –

And its name was Rowan Whitethorn.

_Green eyes that twinkle when he smiles. A heart as broken as mine._

_I wonder if he knows that his hands do more than support me when we dance. . ._

_If he knows that they hold my heart, too -_

_Gods above, I do care about him. A lot._

“Aelin,” Lysandra said gently, nudging Aelin from her thoughts, “you deserve to be happy. You both do.”

At those words, Aelin’s gaze drifted back to her friend, who gave her a tiny, knowing smile. “So what are you going to do about it?”

And that was definitely the question.

But with Christmas only a couple of days away . . .

_Wait._

_Christmas._

_That’s it!_

\----------

Rowan sat at a table with a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, gazing out the window of the bookstore at the snow.

He had come here for the cozy comfort that only a bookstore could offer, but there was one problem with being alone: his thoughts always wound their way back to Aelin –

“Hey, Rowan!”

Rowan looked away from the window to see Dorian waving, making his way over to where he sat. He smiled. “How’s break treating you, Dorian?”

“Fantastically, as always,” Dorian grinned. “How’s it going with you?”

“Can’t complain,” Rowan said. “I’ve got a good cup of coffee and a lovely winter view.”

Dorian’s blue eyes turned mischievous. “That’s all? Are you sure?”

“I’m afraid I’m not following you. . .”

Dorian sat down across from him. “Are you serious? Have you seen the way she looks at you?”

“How does she look at me–”

“Aha!” Dorian exclaimed. “I knew it!”

Rowan’s heart was racing. “Knew _what?_ ”

“You two are perfect for each other, you know? I’ve known her since we were teenagers. We even dated for a little while, but we both realized we were better as friends.” Dorian shrugged. “Let me tell you something: I have never, _ever_ seen her look anyone’s way since Sam.” His voice grew quieter. “And she’s never looked at _anyone_ the way she looks at you.”

Rowan took a breath, trying to calm himself. He opened his mouth to say something, but this was a _lot._ So instead, he opted to groan and lay his head on the table.

Dorian laughed heartily. “You are head over heels for her, aren’t you?”

Rowan lifted his head up and sighed. “I can’t be – I mean, I’ve only known her for what, four, almost five months? I don’t even know –”

Dorian cut him off. “Whitethorn, take a breath and talk to me. That’s what friends are for.”

_Friends._

The way Dorian said it – it was so simple. He was offering Rowan the chance to let it all out, to relieve some of the pressure weighing down Rowan’s heart.

He was a fool if he didn’t take the chance.

And Dorian _was_ his friend, he realized, the thought warming him more than the coffee.

“She’s just . . . gods, where do I start?” Rowan ran a hand through his hair. “She’s so strong all the time, but I seem to see her when she’s at her most vulnerable. Or she _lets_ me see her at those moments, I don’t know. And she’s got an uncanny ability to know people better than they know themselves – especially when those people have so much more in common with her than they originally thought.”

“Meaning you?”

Rowan nodded, looking outside at the still-falling snow. “Lyria’s death left me completely broken, and I hoped coming to Rifthold would help me leave it all behind.” He took a shaky breath, surprising himself. “Instead, I met Aelin, and that forced me to face everything I was running from. And –” Rowan stopped, collecting his thoughts. “I think I’m better because I faced those things. Because of her.”

Rowan looked back at Dorian, who had a big smile on his face. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

There was no point in hiding it anymore.

Rowan nodded slowly. “Yeah. I really do.”

Dorian’s smile widened. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Do? What do you mean, what am I gonna do?” Rowan took a long gulp of his coffee. “She deserves so much better than me.”

“Okay.” The smile was gone from Dorian’s face, replaced with complete seriousness. “I’m going to be completely honest with you. You are one of the best men I’ve ever met. You’re hardworking, honest, talented, occasionally funny. But besides that, you always try to put everyone first, especially Aelin.” A half-smile returned. “You’ve been broken, but so has Aelin. And until you danced into her life, she hadn’t truly started to heal – but now, I’ve never seen her this happy. At peace with everything. So I’d wager it’s the same with you?”

Rowan nodded again. “Gods, you’re perceptive.”

Dorian leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head casually. “I make it my business to know my friends’ business. So again, I ask you: what are you gonna do about it?”

He couldn’t deny it anymore – especially if her friends had started to notice.

He cared about Aelin more than anything in the world.

But what in the hell could he _do?_

Dorian spoke up. “If I may make a suggestion?”

“I’ll take anything.”

“Christmas is in two days, right?” He gestured to the space around them, to the seemingly endless shelves of books. “I think here would be a good place to start.”

\----------

Aelin sat on the floor of her bedroom with Rowan’s gift and a roll of red-and-green wrapping paper. It was late afternoon, the snow was still falling, and her Christmas playlist was on shuffle on her laptop.

In her hands was a single piece of paper.

After two hours, she had finally managed something she felt good about. Well, as good as possible, considering . . . well, everything.

She opened the book she had chosen for Rowan, flipping to the back cover. Inside the back cover was a hidden pocket, just the right size.

Aelin folded the piece of paper.

Light as a feather, she pressed her lips to it, just once.

She tucked it into the hidden pocket, closed the book, and laid it on the wrapping paper, focusing completely on wrapping before she could change her mind.

She had never wrapped a present so quickly in her life.

\----------

Rowan flipped back through the pages of the book he had chosen for Aelin. Some lines were highlighted, and he had to admit, he felt kind of bad for marking up a perfectly good, brand-new book.

But by highlighting some of his favorite lines, he hoped she would understand more about him, another piece of himself he hadn’t yet shared with her.

_Will she understand?_

_What if she does?_

_Will she care?_

_What do I do then?_

Rowan sighed and closed the book.

He glanced up at the window. The snow was still falling, but the flakes were only tiny specks that looked like glitter falling from the clouds. He couldn’t help smiling to himself; it would be a white Christmas.

Christmas. Right.

He pushed himself off of his couch and over to the dining table, where the blue paper with silver snowflakes was waiting for him. He set the book on the paper and was about to start wrapping –

He stopped suddenly.

He opened the book’s front cover and reached for a nearby Sharpie. He paused for a moment before writing three words – three words Aelin had seen before.

And before he could change his mind, he set about wrapping the beautiful book meticulously, more carefully than he had wrapped anything before.

It had to be perfect.

His Fireheart deserved nothing less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!  
> Thanks for your patience and for sticking with me! This chapter's a little shorter than what I usually do, but I didn't want to skip over letting some supporting characters get their moments to shine (also, I can't resist building some suspense and antici...pation)!  
> The next chapter is Christmas! But believe me, Romeo and Juliet is coming very soon! :)  
> As always, thanks a TON and I love you all!!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	21. Christmas, Part 1 - Family

The sky was barely beginning to lighten when Aelin woke up on Christmas morning.

She crept out to the living room, where the Christmas tree cast a rosy glow in the corner of the room. She made her way over to the couch and curled up on it, pulling a blanket over her legs. Looking out the window, she could see tiny snowflakes whirling through the air. It would be an absolutely beautiful Christmas day.

Aelin spoke to the empty room, her voice barely a whisper.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” The words still cracked her heart, after all these years. “Another year, another Christmas. It’s going to be beautiful, with the snow covering everything. We’re having a little Christmas party, me and my friends. We started doing it a few years ago – but you know that already, huh? They’ll come over around 11 or so and stay all day, and we’ll watch Christmas movies and open presents and cook a big dinner. . .”

She hugged her knees to her chest. “There’ll be a new face this year though. His name is Rowan. He’s a new principal dancer. We hated each other at first. I thought he was cocky and condescending, and – well, he probably thought I was vain and immature. And I know I can be sometimes. But now . . . things have changed. A lot.”

She chuckled. “He’s the only one I partner with, really. I danced Giselle with him. Giselle.” She still felt a thrill when she thought of it. “I got to dance _Giselle_ , you guys. And then I danced Dewdrop in _Nutcracker._ With Rowan again. When I dance with him . . .” She thought for a moment. “I feel like I can dance anything. Like I can _do_ anything.

“I don’t remember much about you guys. I wish I did, but . . .” She paused to wipe at the tears gathering in her eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. Outside, the faintest ray of pink sunlight began to illuminate the snow. “I hope I’m becoming the woman you always hoped I’d be. I hope I’m . . . I hope I’m making you proud.”

Aelin sat silently for a moment, enjoying the stillness of of a rising winter dawn.

She talked to her parents every year on Christmas, the only day she allowed herself to miss them. In truth, she didn’t remember much about them. Every year, it seemed like she remembered less.

But maybe . . . maybe that was okay.

Maybe it meant that the family she had found for herself with her friends was enough.

_No – more than enough._

The thought spread a warmth through her chest, eventually soothing her back to sleep.

* * *

Aelin woke up again, this time to the smell of something warm and sweet. She pushed herself up to a sitting position on the couch.

“Merry Christmas!”

Aelin turned to see Lysandra walking over with some mugs.

“Is that hot chocolate?” Aelin exclaimed.

Lysandra laughed. “You put out the presents last night, so I figured I’d do breakfast today.” She set the mugs down before going back to the kitchen. She returned with a bowl of fresh fruit, a small plate of toast, and a little bowl of powdered sugar.

“Thanks, Lys,” Aelin said warmly, popping a few blueberries into her mouth. “Do we have everything for dinner?”

Lysandra thought for a moment, chewing a bite of toast. “Turkey, mashed potatoes, apple stuffing, gravy, cinnamon apples, corn casserole, green beans . . . am I missing anything?”

“Don’t think so,” Aelin replied. “Is it bad that it’s only breakfast and my mouth is watering for later?”

“It won’t be too late, though. We’re still eating around 4 or so, right?”

Aelin nodded. “And we said people could start coming at 11.”

Lysandra jumped up. “11 o’clock? It’s already 9!”

Aelin whirled to glance at the clock on the microwave – which read 9:02 AM. “I haven’t showered yet! I’m not ready!” She scrambled off the couch. “And we still need to make this apartment the most festive one in town!” _Rowan deserves a fantastic first Christmas in Rifthold._

“What, a tree’s not enough?”

Aelin’s eyes twinkled. “You’ve seen _Elf_ , right?”

“Yeah. . .”

Aelin pulled the box of decorations out from under the dining table. “Just call me Buddy.”

\----------

Rowan knocked on the door of Aelin and Lysandra’s apartment, self-consciously adjusting the collar of his shirt under his sweater. In his other hand was his bag of gifts for everyone – and he was well aware of the small blue and silver gift tucked into the bottom.

Now he just had to find the right time to –

The door opened.

She wore a thigh-length red sweater over simple black leggings, the neckline laying off of her shoulders. Her gold hair was swept back into a soft ponytail, the waves still reaching to her shoulder blades. A bracelet made of small bells jingled on her wrist, and she wore a pine-green headband in her hair.

He smiled as he saw her gaze sweep over his green sweater and red shirt before landing on his eyes. She saw his smile and blushed, smiling back.

“Merry Christmas,” Aelin said, opening the door wider for him.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, crossing in front of her to enter the apartment. He heard the door close behind him.

He had never seen anything like it.

There was a tree in the corner of the room, wrapped with a red garland and warm, golden light. Dozens of paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling, and there was a row of nutcrackers on the sideboard table.

“Do you like it?” came her voice from behind him.

“It’s . . . it’s beautiful,” he answered, taking it all in. “It’s certainly the most festive apartment I’ve ever been to!”

“I’m glad someone appreciates all my hard work then.”

 _She_ did this?!?

He turned to her, taking in the mischievous, proud smile on her face. _Gods._ “You keep finding new ways to surprise me.”

Her smile turned softer. “Well, come on in!” She gestured to the couches, where he saw Aedion, Lysandra, Dorian, and Manon already there, watching _A Christmas Story_ on the TV. “There’s some snacks on the coffee table, some mulled cider on the stove, and we’ve got a Christmas movie marathon all planned.”

“Hey, Whitethorn!” Dorian stood up as Rowan approached, drawing him into a bro hug. “Merry Christmas!”

Rowan let himself be swept up in his group of friends, exchanging hugs and _Merry Christmas_ es.

This was going to be a great day.

\----------

Aelin leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the scene unfold. The friends she’d known for years, welcoming Rowan like he was family. She was so lost in thought that she almost didn’t hear the knock on the door.

 _I thought everyone was here now. . ._ She padded back and opened it.

“Merry Christmas, Aelin.”

Aelin didn’t hesitate.

She threw her arms around Chaol’s neck. “You’re here,” she breathed, trying hard to keep the tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

His arms wrapped around her, returning her fierce embrace. “I had to thank you in person.”

She pulled back to look at his familiar honey-brown eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I would never have gone to Antica if you hadn’t pushed me to.” He grinned. “I never would have _walked_ again if you hadn’t bullied me into it.”

Aelin grinned back. “You’re welcome, you stubborn ass.” Her gaze caught on a figure behind Chaol.

Yrene.

_His wife._

“It’s good to see you, Yrene,” Aelin said, drawing the woman into a hug.

Yrene was clearly surprised as she hugged her back. “You – you remember me?”

“Of course I do,” Aelin replied, the images flashing through her mind. _A dark alley, a cowering girl, a few thugs, the flash of my hidden knife. . ._ “It’s not every day you save someone’s life in an alley, then hear she went on to become Antica’s most renowned physical therapist.”

Yrene blushed. “So I suppose both Chaol and I have you to thank for bringing us together?”

Aelin grinned and gave a flourishing curtsy. “And you’re so very welcome.”

“Is that the Lord and Lady Westfall I hear?” Dorian called.

“Well, come on in!” Aelin said, pulling Chaol and Yrene into the apartment. “Everyone’s here, so Christmas can finally start!”

\----------

Rowan had definitely noticed the way Aelin had clung to Chaol Westfall – and the way he had hugged her back.

There was a past there. A past he didn’t know about, a past she had yet to share with him.

He was certainly handsome: tall, though not quite as tall as Rowan, with short, chestnut-brown hair and warm brown eyes that had the look of someone who had been through a lot.

Dinner was now cooking, and everyone had a cup of hot, mulled cider in their hands. Rowan made his way over to Chaol and Dorian, if only to avoid the tempting, mouthwatering smells of the kitchen.

Dorian noticed immediately and gestured to him. “I don’t think you’ve met Rowan Whitethorn yet,” he said.

Rowan held out his free hand, which Chaol took, shaking it firmly. “Nice to meet you, Rowan,” Chaol said. “Dorian’s been telling me a bit about you. How are you finding RBT?”

Rowan smiled at him. “It’s more of a home than Doranelle ever was,” he answered honestly. He couldn’t keep his gaze from flicking over Chaol’s shoulder at Aelin, who was laughing about something with Yrene and Manon. Dorian mumbled something about going to keep Aedion company, leaving Rowan and Chaol alone.

“I haven’t seen her smile like that since before I left,” Chaol said quietly.

“What?”

“She and I were together for a few months after she and Dorian decided they were better as friends,” Chaol explained. The surprise must have registered on Rowan’s face, because Chaol continued. “Some things happened between us, and it actually got. . . well, it got pretty ugly, to be honest. And most of the fault was mine.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Then, just as we were starting to patch things up, I got hurt. Bad. Everyone said I wouldn’t walk again, but Aelin talked me into going across the sea to Antica, to the Torre Cesme’s healers. Because of her, I found Yrene, and I’ll even be able to dance again.” He smiled and turned to look at Aelin. “That’s the thing about Aelin Galathynius,” he said. “She has a way of knowing you better than you know yourself.”

Rowan looked back at Aelin, still processing all that Chaol had just said. First of all, she had dated him _and_ Dorian. Second, she had inspired Chaol to do something most would call impossible. And third, he had overheard Aelin and Yrene talking about how Aelin had saved Yrene’s life years ago.

_I still have so much to learn about her._

_But what an extraordinary woman. Is there anything she_ can’t _do?_

“All right, everyone!” Aelin called from the kitchen, where Yrene and Manon were helping put the dishes into a buffet arrangement on the counter. “Dinner’s ready! So grab a plate and find a seat for _A Charlie Brown Christmas_!”

“ _A Charlie Brown Christmas_?” Rowan asked as Aedion came over to them.

Aedion nodded with a grin. “Charlie Brown for dinner, then presents, then Aelin’s favorite for dessert.”

At the word _presents_ , Rowan’s heart gave a thump.

“Right,” Rowan repeated. “Presents. . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHRISTMAAAS  
> Guys, I hope you're all ready for the tooth-rotting fluff to come in the next chapter WHICH I'M ALREADY WORKING ON :D  
> I am so, so grateful to all of you who continue to come along with me on this delightful ride, and I love you all so, so much!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	22. Christmas, Part 2 - The Best Things

“Haven’t we heard _Nutcracker_ enough?”

Aelin whirled on Aedion. “It’s tradition! We play _Nutcracker_ music while we open presents!”

Her cousin sighed, putting his arm around Lysandra where they sat on the couch. “Fine. But I’m not dancing.”

Yrene made her way to the Christmas tree, picking up an armful of presents and passing them around the room. “Okay, everyone, here’s the first round!”

“You heard the woman!” Dorian said, taking the bow off of his gift and sticking it on the top of his head. “Dig in!”

Over the sounds of _Nutcracker_ , the cacophony of paper-tearing and laughter began.

Aelin’s first gift was from Aedion: a pair of wireless headphones. “Thanks, Aedion! These will make my cross-training workouts so much easier!”

He winked at her. “Oh, it was buy one, get one half-off.” Aelin rolled her eyes.

“A new heating pad, thank the gods!” Dorian exclaimed, grinning at Manon.

Manon’s lips twitched into a smile. “Whenever you come over by the piano, you’re always complaining about something hurting or something being sore. Maybe this’ll get you to shut up about it.”

“Am I still allowed to come over by the piano at least?” Dorian asked, putting on a mock pouty face at her.

She shoved him off the ottoman they were sharing, eliciting a collective laugh from the room.

“I’ll get the next round,” Chaol volunteered, picking up the next armful of presents to pass around.

* * *

Soon, everyone had gotten presents from everyone. It was now 7 pm, and they all sat with a glass of warm, mulled wine.

But something was still nagging Aelin: she hadn’t gotten anything from Rowan.

It shouldn’t be a big deal, but she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. . .

“I believe it’s time for Aelin’s favorite Christmas movie?” Aedion’s voice roused her from her thoughts.

Aelin sprang up from the couch and over to the TV, picking up the Blu-Ray on the bottom of the pile.

“What’s Aelin’s favorite Christmas movie?” Rowan asked.

“ _White Christmas_ ,” chorused everyone else. Lysandra reached over and flipped the lightswitch.

“I don’t know if I’m disappointed or impressed that you all know that,” Aelin said, popping the disc into the player. She gingerly stepped over the piles of presents and back to the couch – next to Rowan this time. “Is it okay if I sit here?” she asked quietly as the opening music began, turning her head to face him.

She was acutely aware of how close they were sitting.

“Absolutely,” he whispered back with a smile. “Is it okay if I say I was hoping you would?”

She was glad the lights were off so he couldn’t see her blush. “Absolutely.”

* * *

 _White Christmas_ always made Aelin happy. The story, the humor, the music, the romance. . . Vera-Ellen and Danny Kaye left the table they shared with Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney, heading to the dance floor.

She leaned over to Rowan. “This is my favorite scene in the movie,” she whispered, as the pair swept outside to the opening notes of. . . “ _The best things happen while you’re dancing_ ,” she sang along quietly. “ _Things that_ –”

“ _Things that you would not do at home come naturally on the floor,_ ” came Rowan’s familiar voice, low and close to her ear. She turned to look at him with surprise. “What?” he asked.

“To think that His Highness Rowan Whitethorn knows all the words to _White Christmas_.” She tilted her head. “You keep finding new ways to surprise me,” she whispered back, echoing his words from earlier.

His answering smile was warm and almost bashful.

As the song and dancing continued on, Aelin made a choice.

Lightly, she rested her head on Rowan’s shoulder.

He stiffened for the briefest of moments, and she thought he would pull away. _I pushed too far._

Instead, he relaxed into the couch, and she felt his arm settle around her.

 _This_ , she thought, snuggling closer to him, to his comforting scent of pine and snow. _This is all I want for Christmas this year._

\----------

When she had laid her head on his shoulder, Rowan had been afraid to even breathe.

It was everything – no, more than he had dared hope for.

She hadn’t moved since, and Rowan had to wonder if she had fallen asleep. He moved his head to get a better look at her face, and he saw her turquoise eyes still open, still watching the movie.

He thought about the blue-and-silver package still in the bottom of the bag – and had an idea.

“You want to go outside for a few minutes?” he asked in a whisper.

She looked up at him, surprised. “Now? In the snow?”

“And why not? It’s Christmas, isn’t it?”

She blinked at him and shrugged. “Okay, I guess,” she replied, pushing herself off the couch. “Let me just grab my coat and boots.”

Rowan watched her leave before he got up himself. He caught Dorian’s eye, and Dorian gave him a wink. He felt himself blush before he went to wait by the front door, pulling on his shoes and his coat.

Aelin reappeared a short time later, bundled in a blue peacoat and fur-trimmed boots. “Let’s go?” she said with a little shrug.

Then she was out the door, Rowan trailing behind her.

“Where are we going?” she asked once they were in the hall.

He grinned at her. “Just trust me.”

\----------

He led her onto the roof, where a couple inches of snow covered the ground, and snowflakes fell gently. The lamps cast a warm glow onto the snow, and the temperature wasn’t too cold.

A beautiful winter night.

“What are we doing on the roof?” Aelin asked.

She saw Rowan take a deep breath before turning to her.

“I didn’t want to give you your present in front of everyone,” he admitted, pulling a rectangular package from his coat pocket. It was wrapped in blue paper with silver snowflakes.

_The same colors as my Dewdrop costume._

“Merry Christmas,” he said, giving her the gift with a small smile.

She smiled back up at him as she took it. She gently tore the paper, and soon it was gone.

And in her hands was a beautiful, red and gold, leather-bound edition of _Romeo and Juliet_.

It was the most beautiful edition of her favorite Shakespeare play she’d ever seen.

She’d never even owned a copy of it until now. The last time she had seen it was in the study of her old house.

In the hands of her father.

Tears pricked at her eyes.

“I know how much you love to read, and with _Romeo and Juliet_ coming up, I thought you might like a copy,” he said, running a hand through his silver hair.

She opened the front cover to see three words, written in a smooth, male hand.

_To my Fireheart._

That was the second time he’d written those words to her.

She looked up into his pine-green gaze, fighting the burning behind her eyes. “To your Fireheart, huh?” she asked.

He nodded slowly. “To my Fireheart,” he replied softly.

“That sounds an awful lot like you’re claiming me or something,” she said, attempting some bit of bravado even as her heart pounded.

He laughed, sounding a bit nervous. “I don’t think anyone could ever claim you,” he said. “I don’t think you’d ever _let_ anyone ‘claim’ you.”

_Does he have any clue how wrong he is?_

“Then you don’t know me as well as I thought you did,” she said quietly. She lifted her head to meet his eyes, keeping her gaze steady.

His pine-green eyes blazed for a moment, flashing between surprise and joy and . . . hunger.

_Oh, gods._

She couldn’t handle that. Not yet.

\----------

“I don’t think you’d ever _let_ anyone ‘claim’ you,” Rowan said.

She studied her gloved hands for a moment.

“Then you don’t know me as well as I thought you did,” she said, finally lifting her simmering turquoise eyes to his.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure what would happen if he did. If he indeed took the smallest step closer to her.

He didn’t trust himself enough to find out. Not yet.

Luckily, Aelin spoke again.

“I have your gift, too,” she said, producing a red-and-green package from her coat pocket. “It might need explaining, so I didn’t want to do it in front of everyone.”

Rowan took the gift from her and opened it.

Inside was a green book with a silver pine tree on the cover. He opened it to find the pages blank.

“A notebook?” he asked.

She smiled. “Told you it needed explaining.” She gestured to the book. “It’s a journal. Now I know blank pages are the most uninspiring thing in the world,” she said, “but hear me out.”

Rowan nodded, waiting. Wondering.

She took a breath, her turquoise eyes piercing his. “You told me that the tattoos were the story of how you lost Lyria,” she said. “So I thought it was time you write yourself a new story.”

Rowan’s eyes burned, and it was suddenly very difficult to speak. _Gods above, what did he do to deserve her in his life?_ “Aelin, I . . .”

With a small, tentative smile, she reached over and gently laid her hand on his. “Maybe. . . maybe give this one a happier ending?”

He looked down at her hand, remembering that night on the fire escape. The night he had told her the truth about Lyria, and she had listened.

She had stayed.

 _We can do this, Rowan,_ she had said, her hand on his arm. It was the first time she called him by his first name.

He studied her gloved hand, lacing his fingers through hers with a tiny smile.

“I’ll start working on that.”

\----------

Aelin couldn’t tear her eyes from their hands. Even through their gloves, she could feel the strength of his fingers. The strength that had never let her down.

Suddenly he was pulling her to her feet, taking his phone from his pocket.

“What are you doing?” she asked, slightly irritated at his breaking of the moment.

With a mischievous grin, he let go of her hand. He brushed the snow off a nearby table and typed something into the phone. When he set it down, it began to play the opening of “The Best Things Happen While You’re Dancing.”

Rowan turned to her and gave a little bow, holding his hand out to her again. “Dance with me?” he asked.

As if she could possibly say no.

She took his hand, and Rowan pulled her into an easy swing rhythm, his other hand under her shoulder blade. They swayed and spun with the music, and after a while, they were both laughing. Rowan spun her into a low dip, and as he pulled her back up, Aelin realized . . . how easy it was.

Just being with him.

She looked up to see him watching her, his green eyes soft.

_Gods above, am I still remembering to breathe?_

She shifted her arm further up his shoulder, and she felt him gently draw her closer as the song came to an end. She rested her head against his chest, feeling the familiar rhythm of his heart. There was a gentle tug on her ponytail, and she thought her chest might burst when she realized what it was.

Rowan’s fingers, gently combing through the ends of her hair.

She pulled back just enough to look up at him again.

“I’m sorry, is – is this okay?” Rowan asked, a note of worry in his voice.

Aelin rose onto the balls of her feet and gently pressed her lips to his cheek.

She savored the surprise and quiet happiness in his eyes for a brief moment before she lowered her head to his chest again.

This time, she felt the light press of his lips on her hair before he rested his head on hers. She closed her eyes, breathing in everything about this moment.

This quiet, perfect moment.

His voice quietly caressed her ear, the snow still falling slowly around them.

“Merry Christmas, Fireheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!!  
> Two whole chapters in just two days!! I tell you what, fluff just POURS from my fingers so easily ^_^  
> So what happens now that Christmas is over? Well, Romeo and Juliet is looming on the horizon. . .  
> Lots of love!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	23. Interlude: Juliet's Dream

_Aelin knew this dream._

_She was dancing Juliet in the famous balcony pas de deux, one of her favorite pieces in all of classical ballet. She would run down the balcony stairs towards a familiar face smiling at her, catching her by the hand._

_She would dance with him for a while. But about a third of the way through the pas, she turned around – to see a different Romeo there._

_The second Romeo was also someone she knew._

_She danced with him for a long time, right up until the end when she playfully ran away from him downstage right, waiting for him to catch her hand again._

_Her heart pounded, knowing what was next._

_The kiss._

_She turned around to Romeo –_

_But she couldn’t see his face._

_This Romeo, the one she was supposed to kiss. The one she was supposed to love._

_She had no idea who he was._

_* * *_

_This was the second time Aelin dreamed this dream._

_The first time, she had only been about thirteen._

_The first Romeo had been Steven, a former principal dancer with RBT and the first Romeo Aelin ever saw in a performance._

_The second Romeo had been Connor, the first boy she had ever partnered with._

_As Juliet, she ran away, just before the kiss. She felt a hand grasp hers, and when she turned around. . ._

_She couldn’t see his face._

_She didn’t know who Romeo was anymore._

_And she had never felt so lonely._

_* * *_

_Now, she was dreaming it a second time._

_And the first Romeo was Dorian._

_This was the Dorian from two years ago, the one she had first met. The Dorian without a care in the world. His blue eyes twinkled with a youthful joy as he danced with her. She had cared about him, and they dated for a month or so before agreeing that they were better as friends._

_He was the first friend she’d let herself have in a long time._

_When Dorian set her down from a lift, she spun back –_

_Into Chaol’s waiting arms._

_Chaol had always been more serious than Dorian, more focused. Where Dorian’s Romeo was looser and uninhibited, Chaol’s Romeo was quieter in his passion, giving more intent and purpose to each movement. His brown eyes were warm and deep._

_Chaol had cared about her, even loved her. But the darkness in her had still been too much, and their breakup had been – less amicable. Then he was badly injured, and Aelin couldn’t bring herself to ignore him anymore._

_“If you don’t dance again, I will kill you,” she had practically growled at him. “The Chaol I know wouldn’t dare let anything stop him.” He had gone. And now he was walking again._

_Now, having him back . . . it felt like her little family was complete._

_She smiled at Chaol as she ran from him._

_A hand gently clasped hers, and when she slowly turned . . ._

_Romeo’s face was shrouded in darkness._

_She felt the smile fade from her face, even as she stepped closer to him._

_She_ wanted _to kiss whoever it was. She_ wanted _to love him._

_If only she knew who she was meant to love._

_* * *_

When her alarm went off, Aelin had rolled over to her phone. She’d turned the alarm off and was about to give herself another ten minutes in bed, but then she saw a little red “1” by her email.

She’d opened her email to see a new message from Eudora.

Then she read it.

Now, fifteen minutes later, she was still in bed, staring at her phone.

She blinked a few times – but the words on the screen didn’t change.

 

_Dear Aelin,_

_I am pleased to inform you that you have been cast in the role of Juliet in our upcoming production of Romeo and Juliet._

 

Was this real?

 

_We will be doing something a bit different with this production. We want to give you as dancers and our audiences a truly memorable experience, so you will not know who your Romeo is until opening night._

 

Now _that_ was interesting.

Nerve-wracking.

Okay, _terrifying._

 

_We’d also like you to learn the Harlot choreography, so please attend those rehearsals as well._

_In order to keep the experience authentic, do **not** share your casting with anyone. Only your fellow Juliets, Lord and Lady Capulet, and Paris will know, and they have been cast with the same knowledge: that secrecy is of the utmost importance to the success of this production._

_Don’t worry. I will personally see to it that you are well-prepared for everything – and anyone!_

_I look forward to working more with you, Aelin. I’m sure this is unexpected and a bit scary, but I believe in you. You’ve earned it, my dear._

_Eudora_

 

Aelin took a breath. This wasn’t scary or terrifying – it was an opportunity.

Of all the roles Aelin wanted to dance, Juliet was at the top of the list.

And now she was going to get to dance it.

_There’s that little matter of not knowing your Romeo. . ._

She thought back to her dream. If it was the same dream for the second time, then it was important.

When Sam came along, she had been certain he was her forever. He was her Romeo.

That hadn’t been the case.

_That means Romeo is still out there._

Aelin shushed the voice in her head. If Eudora and the rest of the artistic staff could trust her, she could certainly trust them.

She turned to look at her nightstand, to the copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ that Rowan had given her.

She picked it up with a smile.

“My name is Aelin Galathynius,” she whispered to the room, opening the cover to the first page. “And I will not be afraid.”

 

_Two households, both alike in dignity,_

_In fair Verona, where we lay our scene. . ._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just what the title says: an interlude. I'm in the middle of working nine days in a row (I'm slowly dying and my knees and back are falling apart but it's fine), but I still wanted to write a little something. Hence, this little scribble serves as a bridge from Nutcracker and Christmastime into Romeo and Juliet.  
> Love you guys!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	24. Another First Day

Rowan had gotten to the studio extra early today. It was the first day back for the company, as well as the first day of _Romeo and Juliet_ rehearsals, so he wanted to make sure he was warmed up and focused.

Romeo.

He was a little nervous, to be honest. He had gotten the cast list emailed to him, but there was one thing noticeable absent.

Any Juliet.

There was a follow-up email from Eudora explaining that they wanted the production to be a real experience for both the audience and the cast – which meant he wouldn’t know who Juliet was until he saw her in the ballroom scene.

Rowan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There would be plenty of time to worry later.

He worked through some slow stretches, gradually easing into some push-ups and ab work. When he was warm enough to stretch into his splits, he pulled out a pen . . . along with the journal Aelin had gotten him for Christmas.

He smiled to himself and began to write.

\----------

Aelin couldn’t help the little leap of her heart when she looked into the studio window.

His back to her, Rowan was stretching his center split, leaning forward – and writing in her journal.

She had seen him a few more times since Christmas, including on New Year’s Eve. The same group from Christmas had a little party, and Aelin had spectacularly failed to stay up until midnight, instead falling asleep on the couch – with Rowan’s arm around her.

_What if I had stayed up?_

No. This was no time for what-ifs.

Aelin opened the studio door silently, making sure it made no noise behind her. She glided over to the spot at the barre next to him –

And promptly dropped her bag on the floor.

Rowan swore under his breath and slammed the journal shut before turning to see her standing over him, his eyes wide.

Aelin laughed.

Rowan exhaled and sat up from his stretch, joining in her laughter. “Gods, Aelin, you scared me!”

“No, the noise did. I don’t think _I_ really scare you,” she replied.

“You do – have the ability to be rather scary, you know.” She noted his change in words, and she immediately wondered what he was going to say first.

“Oh, I know,” she said flippantly. “But look who’s talking.” He laughed again, and her chest swelled at the sound. She gestured to the spot at the barre. “Is this spot taken?”

His eyes softened. “Only by you, Fireheart.”

She felt herself blush as she sat down next to him and rummaged through her bag, pulling out a lacrosse ball she used to roll out. She set it under her calf and gently rolled it around, keeping her foot relaxed. When she switched to the other side, she dared a sideways glance at Rowan – who was looking right back at her as he lay on the floor, one knee to his chest.

_Gods above, why do his eyes always do this to me?_

She held his gaze as she finished rolling her calves, daring him to look away first –

Instead, she hit a tight spot on her calf and inhaled sharply, snapping her head to the painful spot. _Son of a –_

Rowan’s hand gently covered her own. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she grimaced. “I just did a few too many calf strengtheners a couple days ago.”

“Ballet class isn’t enough of a calf strengthener?” She heard the amusement in his voice.

She kept her focus on the muscle. “I want to be the best I can be,” she said quietly. “I want to – I _need_ to be strong.”

His fingers gently squeezed hers. “You already are, Aelin,” he replied. She turned her gaze to him then, finding warmth and affection in his green eyes. “But remember that you don’t have to be strong alone.”

She swallowed the emotion that rose in her throat. She shifted her hand under his, causing their fingers to thread together. “Neither do you.”

\----------

Rowan studied their hands, memorizing the shape of her long fingers and the way they felt in his. There had been a shift between them, and he knew Aelin was aware of it, too. He didn’t know what to call it.

In a corner of his heart, he knew the truth: he was afraid to call it anything.

Giving a name to something intangible made it real. It also made it something to lose.

So he took whatever pieces she gave him, and he gave her pieces of himself in return.

So this thing between them, whatever it was . . . he cherished it.

Suddenly, the door to the studio opened, and in walked Dorian, Aedion, and Lysandra. “Welcome back!” Dorian exclaimed. “Let’s get to work!”

Aelin sighed. “Well, there goes our peaceful morning, huh?” she said to Rowan.

He shrugged. “Oh, it was going to happen sometime,” he replied, giving her hand one last squeeze before letting go to roll into another stretch.

Dancers began to file into the studio, giving each other welcome-back hugs and chatting excitedly about the first day of rehearsals. After a while, Eudora herself came in, followed by Manon and her bag of music.

Eudora clapped her hands, calling them to attention. “Good morning, dancers! Welcome back!”

Rowan pushed himself to his feet as Eudora continued to talk. Aelin looked over her shoulder at him and winked.

He had given up telling his heart to stop flipping around her back on Christmas.

Besides, to get through a beast of a ballet like _Romeo and Juliet_?

He was going to need all the support he could get.

\----------

Aelin entered the studio quickly and quietly. It was her first official rehearsal as Juliet, having rehearsed the first town square scene for the past hour and a half. Eudora had told her to learn the harlot choreography, after all.

And sure enough, she had been paired with Rowan.

Aedion had been with Lysandra, and Dorian with a soloist named Sorscha, who was an old friend of his. Of course, no one knew who anyone was actually playing.

But if she had to spend an hour and a half dancing flirtatiously with Rowan. . .

Well, she didn’t exactly mind it.

She smiled to herself as she lowered the blinds on the studio door window, another thing Eudora had insisted on. “No one must know anyone else,” she had said.

“Hey there, Juliet,” came a familiar voice.

Aelin smiled for a completely different reason as she turned around, seeing Chaol making his way over to her.

“Lord Paris, I presume?”

He grinned. “At your service, milady,” he said with a sweeping bow.

Aelin laughed and hugged him tightly. “We’re going to dance together again,” she whispered, her throat suddenly tight with emotion. He hadn’t even been sure he would _walk_ again, and now . . . now he was _here_.

Chaol pulled back to meet her gaze, emotion plain on his face. It soon shifted to a grin. “So let’s get started, shall we?”

Aelin nodded as he walked over to the CD player.

It was finally happening.

_Let’s do this, Juliet._

* * *

“So then after the repeat of the first section –”

“The _attitude_ into _arabesque_ one, because –”

“– because the repeat reverses the order, right.”

“After that, I kneel and try to take your hands, but then –”

“Then . . . I turn and see Romeo.”

Chaol turned his head to her. “How do you feel about that? About . . . not knowing?”

Aelin sighed. “Honestly? I’m terrified.” She leaned her head back against the mirror. “I like the idea, because it brings the story to life for us dancers as opposed to just the audience for a change. But I worry about the technicalities about partnering with someone I’ve never rehearsed with.”

Chaol was silent for a moment, thinking. “I bet that’s exactly how Juliet feels,” he said finally.

“Huh.” Aelin regarded him for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve read the play, haven’t you?”

“You know it’s one of my favorites.”

“Okay, that was a dumb question,” Chaol chuckled. “But think about it. When Juliet’s parents bring Paris to her, they’re asking her to give romantic consideration to someone she’s never met. They’re asking her to partner with someone she’s never rehearsed with. You and I are rehearsing because this marriage to Paris is planned. She’s prepared her whole life for an arranged marriage.” His lips twitched into a small smile. “But then she meets Romeo.”

Aelin was silent, letting his words sink in. It made complete sense, when he put it that way. “And that whole planned future goes out the window,” she thought out loud. “She doesn’t need to rehearse anything with Romeo. When she’s with him, it just . . . _is_.” She looked back up at the ceiling, feeling the rise of goosebumps on her arms. “Wow,” she said with a long exhale.

The window she needed into Juliet’s character was the very situation she was in.

She closed her eyes. And when she opened them again, she let some of the worry go.

“Yeah. Wow is right,” Chaol replied. “Shakespeare knew what he was doing.”

“Do you think he had any idea that _Romeo and Juliet_ would be a ballet one day?” Aelin asked.

“I doubt it,” Chaol said, putting a hand on her shoulder lightly. “But if he did, I think he’d be proud to call you his Juliet.”

\----------

“Are we in the right place?”

Rowan looked up from where he lay on the floor stretching. Entering the studio were none other than Dorian and Aedion.

He felt a wave of relief and excitement wash over him as he realized what that meant: he would be sharing the stage with his _friends_.

“By my troth, that must be Romeo Montague,” Aedion said in his best dramatic voice, elbowing Dorian.

Dorian laughed. “Anon, gentle coz,” he replied just as dramatically.

Aedion looked at him with bewilderment. “ _Coz_?”

“Have you ever read Shakespeare, Aedion?” Dorian asked.

“Have you ever read at all?” Rowan joined in the teasing.

Aedion barked a laugh. “Gods above, am I glad to see you both.”

“So . . .” Rowan began slowly. “Who’s who?”

“You mean who’s Mercutio and who’s Benvolio?” Dorian grinned. “The answer’s yes.”

“What do you mean?”

Aedion slung an arm around Dorian’s shoulder. “It means that both Dorian and I are switching between the roles of Benvolio and Mercutio.”

Rowan thought for a moment. “So basically the same choreography, but completely different characters. That’s a fun little artistic challenge, huh?”

Dorian nodded, setting his bag down by the mirrors. “This whole ballet a challenge already, Whitethorn,” he said. “Three acts of ballet and swordfighting. It’s a beast.”

Aedion grinned. “Well, gentlemen,” he said, opening up his laptop to something that looked like choreographic notation, “we might as well start slaying it now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with an update!  
> I now have an official part-time job, which means (hopefully) a consistent working schedule, which means (hopefully) more time to write!  
> And the thing is, I definitely have some of the Romeo & Juliet stuff written - it's just filling in the stuff in-between so that I can GET there, you know??  
> I know I thank you guys all the time for your patience and your continued love, but I'm going to thank you again because I love you all so, so much! <3  
> ~ Bellexandra


	25. Words

“So remind me again what it is we have between class and rehearsal today?” Lysandra asked, watching Aedion go across the floor in a spectacular series of _tour jetés_. After class, the men typically did a couple of extra combinations more suited to what was required of them in performances.

Aelin sighed, untying her pointe shoes. “Don’t you read your email?” She was only half-listening to Lysandra, her gaze fixated on Rowan as he went across the floor next.

He executed the combination perfectly, as always. Aelin’s eyes traveled over the long, elegant lines of his legs and arms as he jumped, wandering up to his silver hair. She noticed that he hadn’t cut it in a while, and it now reached his ears.

After a nine-revolution pirouette, he finished the combination. He flashed Aedion a grin before his gaze landed on Aelin. His smile softened, and he gave her a wink.

She felt herself blush. _I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of him looking at me like that._

“Well, yeah, but I just don’t get it,” Lysandra continued to huff. “Why are we having a ‘script study’ workshop?”

“Have you _read_ the play?”

“Back in high school, like everyone else had to. But we’re dancers, not Shakespearean actors.”

Aelin stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder, helping Lysandra to her feet. “Lys, we’re not just dancers. We’re actors. Storytellers. People that can move an audience to tears with a single gesture. Actors only have one more thing than we do, and that’s words. Every movement in this ballet comes from that play, so I absolutely believe we need to understand the play as well as any actor.”

Lysandra studied her for a moment. “You’ve always had a way with words, Aelin,” she said, pushing the studio door open. “Okay, I’m convinced.”

Aelin held the door open behind her, and a hand landed on hers. “Oh, sorry –” she began to say, turning to apologize.

But then she looked up to see Rowan’s face.

“The fault is all mine,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes. He swept his thumb over the back of her hand gently before lifting his hand from hers, moving it to hold the door open for her. “So, this workshop thing. . .”

“Why is everyone making such a big deal out of this?” Aelin exclaimed as she continued to walk, finally exasperated. “It’s important!”

“Whoa, hey!” Rowan held his hands up in mock surrender. “I know it is! I was just going to ask if you were excited about it, that’s all!”

Aelin sighed. “I’m sorry. I just wish that people would focus more on the artistry and the acting of dancing and realize that it’s just as important as the technical side. More important, I think.”

Rowan nodded thoughtfully. “Dancers are storytellers, too.”

Aelin smiled up at him. “Speaking of stories,” she began, pushing open the door to another studio, “how’s yours coming?”

“Oh, you know,” he said with a vague gesture. “I’m working on it.”

“Aw, but that tells me nothing about the plot!” Aelin protested.

“Hey now, I’m firmly against spoilers!”

“Not even for me?” Aelin batted her eyelashes.

Rowan laughed quietly, his green gaze turning serious. “Your character’s story is the one I want to get right.”

Her heart leapt in her chest. “And when will you know once you get it right?”

“You’ve always been honest with me, Aelin,” he replied. “So I suspect you’ll just tell me.”

\----------

_January 19_

_Today was interesting, to say the least._

_After class this morning, Eudora scheduled a “script workshop” for us all, which basically meant being talked to about_ Romeo and Juliet _for an hour. The lecturer was a Dr. MacKenzie from Rifthold University, a man considered one of the leading Shakespeare experts in the country. He talked about the play as a whole and some of the characters’ relationships before diving into some specific scenes. It was really a fascinating hour, and it gave me a lot of new ideas to consider when shaping my own personal characterization of Romeo._

_But if I’m honest (and that’s kind of the point of a journal, isn’t it?), I spent as much time watching Aelin as I did listening to Dr. MacKenzie._

_She was so focused on everything he said, and just sitting next to her, I could practically feel how much she loves this story._

_I love watching her talk about things she loves. I overheard her talking to Lysandra this morning, and she was talking about our responsibility as dancers to be actors, too. Storytellers._

_She’s destined for greatness. I know she is._

_And I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I got out onstage and saw her as Juliet. She’s playing one of the harlots, so at least I get to dance with her some. But to dance with her as Romeo and Juliet . . . I honestly have no idea what I’d do. I’m kind of glad I won’t have to find out. I’m not sure I’d be prepared. Because the thing is, it wouldn’t be Romeo dancing with her._

_It would be me._

_And that’s not my job, is it?_

_No._

_Gods, get it together, Whitethorn._

_I don’t even know what to call – whatever it is between us. Something definitely changed on Christmas. Now, I look for every excuse to see her, to just even touch her hand. I may or may not have done that today when we were leaving the studio after class. . . I wonder if she realizes that?_

_I also wonder when she’ll crack the code of the Romeo and Juliet that I gave her. Will I be ready if/when she does? And what if I’m not? Or what if she figures it out and she’s not? I know she’ll figure it out. It’s only a matter of time._

_That scares me more than dancing Romeo._

_Anyway._

_Besides all that, today was fine. I did notice that Aelin was favoring her left foot a bit as she went to change after rehearsal. I hope she’s okay, but I’m sure I’ll ask her about it because I just. . . well, because I just can’t seem to stay away from her for long._

_I meant what I told her back in the fall. I want to know everything about her. I’ve never met anyone before who wants to know so much about me, either. I had no idea anything could feel like this –_

“Good book?”

Rowan snapped the journal closed and looked up into a teasing turquoise gaze. “Like all books, it depends on the reader,” he replied.

Aelin gave a little huff. “And the writer.” As she turned to go, she gave a sharp hiss of pain.

Rowan was immediately at her side. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s nothing.”

“Aelin.”

She looked at him sideways. “A few years ago, I got a slight tear in my metatarsal. They said it was overuse, or a stress fracture, or something like that. It just flares up from time to time, that’s all.” She tried to hobble away again.

“That’s all?” Rowan repeated suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. “Aelin, that looks kind of serious.”

“It’s not torn,” she said. “It’s just one of those injuries that flares up sometimes.” She leaned against the frame of the building door. “Today is. . . one of those days.”

“Here.” He lifted her right arm over his shoulder, pushing the door open with his back.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself!” she protested as he half-lifted her outside. They were met by a gentle breeze of cold winter air. After judging the sidewalk safe and ice-free, Rowan began to walk Aelin towards the apartments.

“I know you are,” Rowan said, continuing to support her as they walked. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. “You have any plans for tomorrow?”

“On my day off? Not yet.”

“Do you want to hang out?” The words were out before he could stop them. _No going back now._ “Just you and me?” he clarified quietly.

“Just you and me,” she echoed, peeking up at him from under her eyelashes.

“That way you can make sure I relax for once, and I can make sure you don’t do anything.”

“Anything stupid?”

He felt himself grin. “No, just anything. You, me, food, maybe some movies?” _Am I asking her on a date? Is that what this crappy avalanche of words is turning into? Gods help me._

Aelin was silent for a moment. Then. . . “I’d like that,” she said softly, turning her head to look at him fully. Her eyes were warm, filled with a quiet kind of happiness that set Rowan’s heart soaring.  
And in that moment, he decided that when it came to Aelin, he was giving up on telling his heart no.

\----------

“ _So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,_

_Retain that dear perfection which he owes_

_Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,_

_And for thy name, which is no part of thee,_

_Take all myself.”_

Aelin smiled to herself, swiping at a stray tear that escaped her eyes. One of Dr. MacKenzie’s tips had been to read it out loud, and that’s exactly what Aelin was doing: going through every single one of Juliet’s scenes and actually speaking her lines.

And naturally, she had fallen in love with the play all over again.

The way it felt on her lips, the way the words flowed and wove together – it was just like dancing. The words between Romeo and Juliet, she realized, were their own sort of _pas de deux_.

She sighed and flopped onto her back on her bed. She opened the book again, flipping through the pages to look at some of the highlighted lines:

 

_Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!_

_For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night._

_It is my lady, O, it is my love!_

_O, that she knew she were!_

 

She noticed something then: it was only some of _Romeo’s_ lines that were highlighted. As though she was reading a stage actor’s copy of the script.

 _Wait_.

She flipped through the pages again, rereading all the highlighted lines. Nope, just Romeo.

_Does that mean . . . Rowan’s playing Romeo?_

She wanted to smack herself. Of _course_ he would be one of the Romeos, he was a principal!

Just like everyone else, he couldn’t tell her who he was playing. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t leave clues for her to figure out. And if she did – well, that wasn’t _his_ fault, was it?

Aelin smiled.

_He trusts me not to tell anyone. And I’m spending the day with him tomorrow._

She sat up. _A day with Rowan._

_Just the two of us._

_Romeo –_

_And Juliet._

_What if . . . what if we end up dancing Romeo and Juliet together?_

_What if he’s my Romeo?_

Aelin shoved the thought from her head. She wasn’t going to deal with _that_ possibility right now (or ever). Not when she had tomorrow to think about.

Her phone buzzed on its nightstand, startling her from her thoughts.

_Any requests for tomorrow? Movie or food-wise?_

Aelin typed back. _I’ll_ _bring some of my movies over and we can decide then. As for food. . . something Italian maybe? Carbo-load for the week?_

 _Sounds good to me,_ he wrote back.

 _I’m assuming you have wine, too?_ she asked playfully.

The “typing” bubble came up briefly before his message appeared. _How did you know?_

She took a breath before typing back, deciding to be a bit brave. _Because I know you._

This time, the bubble was up for what seemed like ages. Finally, his reply showed up.

_And I consider myself lucky that despite that, you’re still around._

Her chest tightened for a moment as she recalled everything they had been through together, everything they had already shared.

And everything they had _yet_ to share.

Aelin typed her last text quickly and hit _send_ , turning off her bedside lamp and burrowing into her covers before laying her phone face-down on her nightstand.

_And I’m not going anywhere._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and let me tell you, I'm so excited for the next one already!! ^_^  
> Thanks for your reading, your comments, and your kudos! <3  
> ~ Bellexandra


	26. Movie Day

Aelin had been looking at the door for what felt like a lifetime.

She was there on time, as she always was for anything. But this wasn’t just _anything_.

This was a day with Rowan. Just him, just her. No one else.

_Does that make it a date?_

_No. Just a day with my . . . best friend?_

_Sure. Let’s call it that._

_Oh, who am I kidding? It’s a day off to have fun, so let’s make it one._

Aelin adjusted her bag on her shoulder, using her other hand to knock on Rowan’s door.

It was only half a heartbeat before it opened.

As always, she had to lift her head to meet his gaze. The edges of his eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her. “Morning!” she chirped with a grin.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Rowan said, opening the door wider for her to enter his apartment. “Are you ready to do absolutely nothing today?”

“I feel like this is going to be a lot harder than it sounds,” Aelin said with a laugh. “I’m not very good at sitting still for very long.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

“Oh, we both know you can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do myself,” Aelin countered.

Rowan barked a laugh as he took her bag from off her shoulder. “This is going to be quite a great day.”

\----------

Rowan settled on the couch as Aelin popped her first movie into his TV. “What’ve you got there?” he asked.

She padded back around the coffee table, plopping down next to him. “ _The Two Towers_ ,” she replied with a grin.

“Not the first or the third movies?” he asked curiously.

Aelin shrugged. “ _Two Towers_ has always been my favorite,” she said, picking up the remote as the main menu appeared. “Gandalf’s return, Merry and Pippin and the Ents, everything that happens in Rohan, the Battle of Helm’s Deep . . . I feel like you learn the most about the characters in this one.”

Rowan was inclined to agree with her. “That’s fair.”

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Aelin reached for her bag, pulling out a heating pad. “If today is about taking care of ourselves, then for the love of the gods, _please_ use a heating pad on your shoulder.”

“Why do I need –”

“You hold most of your tension in your left shoulder, just like me,” she observed with a knowing smile. “You’re not going to make it through Romeo if you let it get worse.”

_Romeo._

_She knows. She figured it out._

His heart thundered in his chest. “So. . . now you know, huh?” _Oh, gods, oh, gods –_

Aelin turned her turquoise gaze to him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said with a wink, lifting the ice pack he had provided her onto her foot. “Now shut up and watch the movie.”

Rowan let his eyes linger on her for a few extra moments before turning his attention to the movie.

_Gods, I’m in so much trouble, aren’t I?_

\----------

It wasn’t long before Aelin had drifted closer to Rowan on the couch. And it wasn’t long after that before his arm rested on the couch behind her. Everything about him, _with_ him, just felt so. . . right.

She watched Aragorn and Eowyn conversing as the scene shifted to a flashback of Aragorn with Arwen, returning the jewel to his love and telling her to move on from him.

Her chest tightened. She knew what it was to feel unworthy of someone, to believe that they would be better off without you.

Her eyes burned as she looked at Arwen, whose own eyes shone with tears.

As if he read her thoughts, Rowan’s arm circled her shoulder, gently tugging her to rest her head on his shoulder. “What is it?” he asked quietly.

Aelin opted for a change of subject instead. “Is there a _Lord of the Rings_ character you think you’re the most like?”

He looked down at her, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Is there one that _you_ think I’m most like?”

“Hmm.” Aelin studied him for a moment, then looked back to the movie at Aragorn. “The first and obvious instinct would be Aragorn. The broodiness, the self-imposed expectations, the –”

“Okay, I get it,” Rowan chuckled.

“And you’re definitely as stubborn as Gimli.”

“Hey!”

“When it comes to looks, though, you’re closest to Legolas, minus the pointy ears.”

Rowan laughed. “Okay, fine. Two can play at that game.”

“Oh?” Aelin looked up at him again. “Think you have me pegged, Whitethorn?”

His eyes flashed at that. “You’re as stubborn as Sam.”

Interesting. . . “And?”

“And as loyal.” When she was silent, he continued. “And you’re as noble as Arwen. As intelligent as Legolas.”

She felt the color rise to her cheeks as he spoke, working up her courage to tell him the truth. He always deserved the truth. “I think you’re the most like Faramir though,” she said with a deep breath, turning her eyes back to the screen. Bracing herself for him to ask –

“Why do you say that?” he asked quietly.

“You’ve lost a lot,” she began tentatively. “You’re always striving to be better. To be more. Just like him. But the thing is. . . Faramir shouldn’t have to. He _doesn’t_ have to.” She reached for his other hand, slowly lacing her fingers with his. “Because whether he knows it or not, he’s already the kind of person that the people around him need.”

Rowan was still.

Aelin held her breath, waiting for him to say something.

Then she felt his head rest lightly on hers, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to her hair. She felt him exhale, a bit shakily. _Is he . . ._

He muttered something into her hair, something she couldn’t understand.

She didn’t say anything, choosing instead to nestle closer to him. To the man who deserved to have all the happiness in the world.

She didn’t deserve him. There was no way the world would give her something like this, someone like him.

She just hoped that maybe, just maybe. . . _she_ was enough.

\----------

The rest of the movie was spent in silence, with some occasional chuckles at Gimli or Merry and Pippin. It had been a long time since Rowan had watched it, and he forgot how much he loved the series. It had always struck him deeply, how much the characters – and their struggles – resonated with him.

As the credits began to roll, he felt Aelin shift beside him. “I love that movie,” she sighed.

“Excellent way to start the day,” he agreed. He moved to stand up from the couch, heading to the TV and taking out the disc.

“So what do you have now?” she asked.

“How about something a little more lighthearted?” He made his way back towards the kitchen, taking a bowl of berries out of the fridge. “I’ve got a snack, too.” He set the bowl on the coffee table in front of Aelin, along with a smaller bowl of sugar.

She looked up at him in surprise. Okay, so _maybe_ he had asked Lysandra what Aelin liked to munch on. . .

He gave her a wink and shrugged, sitting back down next to her as _Pirates of the Caribbean_ began.

“Good choice, Whitethorn,” she said, nodding in approval.

“The first one’s still the best,” he replied with a smile. Then he noticed that the blue ice pack was lying on the coffee table – and there was no way it was still frozen. He immediately stood up again and picked it up.

“Hey, I can get it –”

“I’m making sure you’re not doing anything, remember?” he called from the kitchen. He always kept two ice packs in the freezer, so after he put the un-frozen one back, he took out the other.

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Aelin huffed when he came back, handing her the frozen pack as he plopped back on the couch.

“I know you can, Aelin. Gods above, I know you can.” Rowan ran a hand through his hair. “But that doesn’t mean that you have to all the time.”

Her eyes softened. Rowan took her hand again, this time lifting it to his lips briefly before they lapsed into comfortable silence again.

“Do I get to help with dinner at least?” Aelin asked after a while.

Rowan chuckled. “Maybe.”

\----------

Aelin _did_ get to help with dinner after all.

Turns out Rowan had planned to make chicken parmesan, her favorite Italian dish. So naturally, Aelin had to make sure he got everything right.

She showed him how to season the tomatoes, how to fry the chicken just right so it wouldn’t burn. He took it all in, studying every movement she made when she was cooking. Of course, she let him do some of the work, too.

And they ended up with some of the best chicken parmesan Aelin had ever had.

Now, they were back on the couch – and the Disney movies had come out. _The Emperor’s New Groove_ was followed by _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ , and they decided they’d watch one more before calling it a night.

“Here’s what I’ve got left,” Aelin said, holding up her bag for Rowan to browse. “You can pick the last one.”

Rowan rifled through the movies before pulling one out. “One of my favorites,” he admitted, gesturing to her copy of _Hercules_ that he now held.

“Rowan Whitethorn is admitting to liking Disney movies?” Aelin drew back in mock surprise. “I’ve felt terrible for picking the last two, and here you were, secretly enjoying both!”

Rowan chuckled. “Okay, yes, I do enjoy Disney movies. Some infinitely more than others.” He moved to put it into the TV. “I could totally see you as Meg. For all the good reasons,” he clarified, coming back to sit by her.

“I take that as an absolute compliment,” Aelin said. “I could totally see you as awkward teenage Hercules, too.”

Rowan barked a laugh. “Well, you wouldn’t be far off, to be honest.”

“I can’t wait to hear all about awkard teenage Rowan.”

Rowan settled in beside her, opening his arm for her to nestle into again. Her hand found his automatically as the Muses began to sing on the screen. “Someday I’ll tell you all about him.”

\----------

 _Hercules_ was, in all seriousness, one of Rowan’s favorite animated movies. It was one of the ones he had grown up with, one that had always given young Rowan something to strive for.

“Remember that whole training montage scene?” Rowan asked. “There was a rope swing by a lake near where I grew up. I may or may not have pretended to be Hercules when I swung into the lake as a kid.” He smiled at the memory.

But Aelin was quiet.

“What, no smart remarks? No comments about imagining little me pretending to be Hercules?” he asked. Still, she didn’t respond. He shifted to get a look at her face.

Her eyes were closed, her breathing soft and steady.

Aelin was asleep.

Rowan smiled. “I know you can’t hear me right now, but I just want to tell you that today was one of the most fun days I’ve ever had,” he whispered. He looked back at the screen, where Hercules was diving into the river of Death to retrieve Meg’s soul. “What is it Zeus says? ‘A true hero is defined by the strength of his heart,’ or something like that.”

Rowan brushed a stray lock of golden hair out of Aelin’s face, his fingers combing through the ends. “Have I ever told you how much I love your hair?” he said softly. “It reminds me of the color of the sun in the fall. Or that night that you were in the studio and you told me about Sam . . . your hair looked like the embers of a fire when you walked away.” He swallowed the lump in his throat at the memory. He looked down at the woman sleeping in his arms – this beautiful, brave, incredible woman. “And I remember going home that night and thinking that letting you walk away was the craziest, stupidest thing I had ever done.”

“ _People always do crazy things – when they’re in love_.”

Rowan’s head shot up to look at the screen. He sighed, lightly resting his head on Aelin’s.

“Gods, they sure do, don’t they?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! With some delightfully fluffy fluff!  
> It was hard for me to settle on a way to write this chapter, so I went for a series of snapshots of their day, and I really like how it turned out! Hope your teeth don't rot too much! <3  
> Love you all and thanks for sticking with me! Back to the dancing next time! :)  
> ~ Bellexandra


	27. The Water Is Rising

Another week of rehearsals passed, and as everyone was starting to leave, Aelin lingered, not changing out of her dance clothes just yet.

“Aren’t you coming home?” Lysandra asked as Aedion held the door open for her.

“I just want to go over a couple of things,” Aelin said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “I’ll be along soon.”

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you later,” Lysandra replied, giving her a skeptical look before following Aedion out.

“Want some company?”

“No, thank you –” Aelin turned to see Rowan standing there, and she felt herself blush. He _especially_ couldn’t be around while she ran her choreography.

Her _real_ choreography.

“I just. . . I just need to be alone for a bit,” she said, her eyes pleading him not to ask any more questions.

Thankfully, he didn’t. “You know I understand,” he said quietly, his green eyes soft. He took her hand and squeezed it once. “I’ll see you later.”

After Rowan left, Aelin locked the door to the building before going back upstairs to a studio. She put the act one CD into the stereo, fast-forwarding to her first entrance. Juliet’s entrance.

From there, Aelin just danced.

She ran into her series of _piqué arabesques_ , trying to be as light as possible on her feet while pretending her Nurse was there.

After that, it was on to the ballroom scene. Aelin imagined a room full of people, eyes all on her while she made her first appearance at a ball. She imagined Chaol was there as Paris, leading her into their _pas de deux_. She turned away from him – only to lock eyes with Romeo.

Whoever he was.

She sighed and went back to the stereo, fast-forwarding to Juliet’s solo. There was a playfulness to it, like in the scene with the Nurse; but this time, it was joy that lightened her steps, not youth. At this point in the ballet, Juliet is just starting to feel what love is, and that love carries her around the room and eventually back to Romeo.

The next scene for her was her first _pas de deux_ with Romeo. Juliet sneaks away from the ball to look for him, only to find him already waiting to see her.

But of course, there was only so much Aelin could do without a Romeo there.

So she just marked through the piece.

She was able to do most of the choreography for the ballroom finale, which was a big ensemble dance.

And after that was the balcony scene – all but impossible without a Romeo.

As the opening notes of the balcony _pas de deux_ began, Aelin had a thought.

She walked to the center of the room and proceeded to lay down on the floor. She closed her eyes, visualizing an orchard garden late at night. She imagined herself on Juliet’s – no, _her_ balcony, gazing at the moon and dreaming of the young man from the ball.

Her reverie was disturbed by movement below. The movement ceased, and that same young man stepped out of the shadows, the moonlight illuminating his face.

Her Romeo.

Her eyes still closed, she let the music carry her down from the balcony and into Romeo’s waiting arms.

_His smile seems familiar. . ._

Her fingers moved ever so slightly, marking some of the steps as she danced with him, the violins and cellos flowing around them like water.

 _This_ was what she wanted her performance to feel like.

What she wanted dancing with Romeo to feel like.  
The _pas de deux_ was almost over, and Aelin slowly turned to face Romeo. . .

And her gaze locked with a pair of green eyes –

Aelin’s eyes flew open and she sat upright. _Where on earth did that come from?_

“Well, Miss Galathynius.” came a familiar voice.

Aelin turned to see Eudora standing in the doorway to the studio, a small smile on her face. “Visualizing, are you?”

“Oh – ah, yes, I was. Am.” Aelin sighed. “I was dancing as much of it as I could. . . given the circumstances, I mean.”

Eudora laughed lightly. “You mean without a Romeo.”

Aelin nodded, feeling a bit sheepish. “It’s just – tech rehearsals start tomorrow, and I have no idea how ready I am,” she admitted, finally releasing some of the weight that she had been carrying the past few weeks. “I like the idea of making it authentic for both the audience and the dancers, but I’m. . .” She sighed in frustration, the words tumbling out. “I’m in the _corps_ , Eudora. I shouldn’t be Juliet. I shouldn’t have been Giselle or Dewdrop. That’s not how this should work!” Tears pricked behind her eyes. “I’m not ready. I’m not ready for any of this,” she said quietly, putting her face in her hands.

She felt a light touch on her shoulder. Looking up from her hands, she saw Eudora sitting on the floor next to her. “You’ve been ready for these roles for a long time, Aelin,” Eudora said. “Think about Giselle for a moment. What do the two of you have in common?”

That one was all too easy to answer. “We both lost someone we loved.”

“Why did or do you love dancing Giselle?”

Aelin thought for a moment. “She never stops being herself,” she said slowly, her thoughts forming. “She’s betrayed by the man she loves, but she never stops loving him. She –” It came to her suddenly. “In her own way. . . she’s a fighter, isn’t she?”

“And so are you.” Eudora smiled. “Now, what do you and Juliet have in common?”

“We like to bend the rules to get what we want,” Aelin began. “And. . . well, I guess this is true. We don’t have giant circles of friends. But the friends and loved ones that we _do_ have – we care about them fiercely.”

Eudora had a twinkle in her eye. “I thought you were going to say that you both are in love.”

“ _What!?_ ” Aelin didn’t bother hiding her surprise. “Why – why would you –”

“Oh, don’t bother, my dear,” Eudora said with a laugh. “I didn’t come here to pry, I simply have eyes. Now, what are you loving about dancing Juliet?”

Aelin sighed. “As soon as I actually _do_ it, I’ll let you know.”

“Juliet is a fighter too, Aelin. You’ve read the play. You know that.” Eudora stood up, brushing the dust from the floor off of her pants. “You’re a fighter, just like Giselle. And just like Juliet.” She made her way back to the studio door. “So fight for what you want. Fight hard. Because you truly deserve everything that you’re fighting for.”

Then she was gone, leaving Aelin in a silence that was heavier than before, with nothing but the memory of green eyes to keep her company.

\----------

Rowan stood back on the stage of the Rifthold Opera House, sweat beading on his forehead from this morning’s warm-up class. Tech rehearsals for _Romeo and Juliet_ began today, and he was nervous.

How could you tech a show or even have a run-through if you didn’t want the leads in the cast to know who the others were?

Eudora called them to attention. “Tech rehearsals for this particular show are going to be a bit different,” she began. “In order to keep our leads from knowing who their partners are, we’re going to be running all of the duets, solos, and small group pieces first. Then we’ll move on to the big ensemble pieces. All right? So at this point, I want everyone to go up to the your dressing rooms, and do not come downstairs until you are paged over the backstage intercom, okay?”

The company mumbled their assent as they started to leave the stage. Rowan trotted over to walk by Aelin. “How are you feeling?”

Aelin sighed. “As soon as I figure that out, I’ll let you know.” She seemed off today, anxiousness and stress radiating from her as she made for the wings. _Is her foot bothering her again? Is she nervous about this show? What is it?_

“Hey.” Rowan stopped her, lightly taking her hand. She looked up at him, her eyes unreadable. “No matter what,” he said quietly, “I’m here for you, Fireheart. Okay?”

Her gaze softened at his use of her nickname. “I know. And thank you,” she said. “I just –”

“Eudora?” a voice called from offstage.

Aelin froze next to him. “What is it?” he asked as she turned to the direction that the voice came from. He followed her gaze to the woman emerging from the wings, her warm eyes and dark hair gleaming.

Rowan silently retreated from the stage towards his dressing room, smiling as Aelin, without a word, ran to the wings and flung her arms around Nehemia.

\----------

Aelin couldn’t help the tears that spilled over her cheeks. Nehemia was _here._

Nehemia pulled back with a laugh, looking at Aelin’s face. “Here I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

Aelin laughed. “You have no idea,” she said, brushing the tears away. “What – what are you doing back?”

Nehemia nodded towards something behind Aelin, who turned to see Eudora making her way to them. “I thought you might want to rehearse with your mother before the actual show,” she explained with a wink before disappearing into the wings.

Aelin whirled back to Nehemia, not quite believing what she was hearing. “You’re playing Lady Capulet?” she asked quietly.

A warm smile broke across her friend’s face. “I’m playing _your_ Lady Capulet,” she corrected gently. “No one else’s.”

Aelin had no words. Her best friend was here, and she would be sharing the stage with Aelin, helping her and giving her strength through one of the toughest ballets Aelin would ever dance.

“Come on,” Nehemia said, pulling her toward the stairwell to the dressing rooms. “We need to get into costume. And I think you have some stories to tell me.”

Aelin glanced back to where Eudora had been standing.

_Gods, I owe her big time._

\----------

Rowan stood onstage under the lights, a mask on his face. He took a few steadying breaths, cooling himself back down from the scene that he, Dorian, and Aedion had just run through, the scene when the three friends sneak into Capulet’s ball.

Aedion clapped a hand on his shoulder. “At least we had the masks in rehearsal, huh?”

“I’m not a fan of _attitude_ turns in general, but the masks don’t help,” Dorian said, lifting his mask from his eyes.

“Oh, don’t even start,” Rowan sighed, pulling off his own mask. “Some of us have bigger things to worry about.”

Aedion and Dorian shared a glance as Eudora approached them. “Excellent work, gentlemen,” she said with approval. “You may return upstairs.”

Rowan nodded and turned to walk back up, not waiting for the other two. In the studio, it was one thing. Now, he was on the stage, five days from opening night, still dancing without a Juliet. He knew he was nervous. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

But now it was getting under his skin, making him walk faster.

Then there was the fact that something was clearly bothering Aelin, and since he didn’t know what it was, he was powerless to help her.

“Whitethorn!”

He slowed down just enough for Dorian and Aedion to catch up in the upstairs hallway.

Aedion grasped his shoulder, stopping him and turning him around. “Hey, what is it?”

“I just. . .” Rowan ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right words – as he suddenly heard familiar strains of music. “I’ll see you guys later,” he said, moving towards the source of the music, leaving his friends behind.

\----------

Aelin sat on the floor in a corner of the orchestra room, hugging her knees to her chest. Back during _Giselle_ , the maestro had given her an open invitation to listen to the orchestra’s rehearsals. So here she was, listening to the music from the bedroom _pas de deux_ , the last scene in which Romeo and Juliet see each other alive.

The music was similar to the balcony _pas_ , but there were more moments of quiet in this one. To Aelin, it felt more intimate than the balcony scene, yet somehow, there was more passion behind each note in the music – and each movement of the _pas_.

_Will it still feel that way with whoever Romeo is?_

Aelin closed her eyes, breathing the music in, letting it fill every hollow, empty space in her body, her eyes burning.

_I can do this._

_I_ will _do this._

She repeated those words over and over in her head as the music played on.

And so she never noticed the man lingering in the doorway, watching her as he blinked away the burning in his pine-green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a nice vacation to the big city, I'm back! And with a nice, long chapter (and Nehemia!), too!  
> Romeo & Juliet is coming up and honestly you guys, I'm having such a blast writing all the fluff that I wanna cry. I hope you'll enjoy it, too, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! ^_^  
> Love always,   
> Bellexandra


	28. Romeo & Juliet - Act One

Aelin sat in her dressing room with her eyes closed, listening to the overture over the backstage speakers. She was trying to ignore the pounding of her heart, but it wasn’t working.

She opened her eyes with a sigh, scrutinizing her makeup and hair for the eightieth time.

_I guess it’s just like getting ready for a first date, right?_

She _did_ feel beautiful in Juliet’s first costume, the teal dress bringing out her eyes. Her hair was up in a bun, braid hairpieces pinned in loops on either side of her head, with one long, unbound hairpiece hanging below the bun. That way she wouldn’t have to worry about putting half of her hair up during a quick change.

_Gods, I’m so nervous, I’m talking to myself about the practicalities of hair design._

Aelin groaned, slouching in her chair.

There was a knock at her door.

“Come in,” Aelin called.

The door opened, and Elide appeared. “Special delivery for Aelin Galathynius,” she said cheerfully, clearly hiding something behind her back.

Aelin’s brow furrowed. “For me?” she repeated. “Who is it from?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,” Elide said hesitatingly, though her eyes twinkled.

“Well, what is it?” Aelin asked, a slight tone of impatience creeping into her voice.

With a grin, Elide produced a large bouquet of vibrant red roses, interspersed with sprigs of white baby’s breath.

Aelin didn’t bother to stop the smile that spread across her face.

“There, um, wasn’t any card,” Elide said apologetically.

Aelin looked up at Elide. “I already know who they’re from,” she replied.

Elide smiled back. “You look beautiful, Aelin,” she said after a pause.

“All thanks to you, Elide,” Aelin said, getting up to give her a tight hug. “I’m so proud of everything you’ve done. Your parents would be proud, too.”

She pulled back to see Elide’s eyes glistening. “So would yours,” Elide said. Aelin’s throat bobbed. “Hey, don’t cry or you’ll get tear stains all over my costumes!”

Aelin laughed. “Thank you, Elide.” Elide squeezed her hands before heading out the door.

Aelin turned her attention to the bouquet of roses. “Buzzard,” she huffed with a smile. She met her gaze in the mirror one final time. “I will not be afraid,” she told herself.

And Aelin left her dressing room, heading in the direction of her destiny.

She chose to ignore the little voice that added, _and your Romeo._

\----------

Aelin must just be doing _corps_ tonight, Rowan told himself. She wasn’t one of the harlots tonight, and with all the swordfighting in the first scene, he hadn’t really been able to look for her among the townspeople.

Then while he was changing costumes upstairs, he heard the music for Juliet’s entrance, and he remembered that he had bigger things to worry about.

_His Juliet was only a few flights of stairs away._

Now, Rowan stood on the side of the stage, waiting for the music of the ballroom scene to begin. He thought it was a miracle that he could still hear the music over the pounding of his heartbeat.

Dorian, tonight’s Mercutio, came to stand next to him, dressed in a tunic of deep red velvet with gold trim. “So? How are you feeling?” he whispered.

 _I can’t breathe, thank you for asking._ “Well enough,” Rowan replied just as quietly. Then the music began, the dramatic chords of the low brass and string instruments.

Rowan snapped back into focus, ignoring the jump in his heart rate. He still had a job to do, after all. He entered the stage, concentrating on findind Rosaline as the music continued.

But still the thought lingered in his mind.

_Juliet is coming._

* * *

A familiar trumpet solo signaled Juliet’s entrance.

Rowan made sure his back was turned, focusing on Rosaline. _I can’t see her. I can’t. Not yet._

He knew what she would be doing.

Running into the ballroom, then shyly hiding behind the Nurse. She would go over to Lord Capulet, who would kiss her on the cheek. Then Lady Capulet would embrace her lightly. Finally, Paris would ask her to dance –

And now she was on her way to the opposite, back side of the stage as the low, dramatic refrain began again, Rowan dancing with Rosaline this time.

Then the music stopped.

A low flute melody began – Juliet dancing with Paris.

Rowan took a deep, shaky breath. And after weeks of waiting, he finally – _finally_ – turned to see his Juliet for the first time.

Long, elegant arms and legs.

Hair the color of autumn gold.

A flash of turquoise eyes.

The smile that drove him crazy.

And the way she danced . . .

So Rowan Whitethorn decided to stop fighting.

And he let himself fall completely in love with Aelin Galathynius.

\----------

So far, everything had gone exactly as Aelin had wanted it to.

She danced with Chaol as Paris, casting him demure glances as he gave her encouraging smiles back. It was familiar, dancing with him. Almost like he’d never left.

But he had. And they had both changed.

 _And if it all led me to here. . . then I wouldn’t change a thing_.

Aelin looked at Chaol again, giving him a more meaningful smile. She saw the flash of recognition in his eyes, and he smiled back as he lowered himself to one knee, taking both of her hands in his.

Just before her hands touched his lips, she gently pulled them free, turning away –

Before she could run smack into a silvery-blue tunic, she looked up to see who wore it.

Silver hair.

A black mask.

And a pair of brilliantly-shining, pine-green eyes.

The eyes that knew her so well now held the same disbelief that she felt dawning over her own face.

He circled her slowly before crossing to the opposite side of the stage, never once looking away from her as the music continued.

It was an effort to remember to keep breathing as her world narrowed to a single thought:

_Rowan was her Romeo._

And Aelin’s heart soared.

\----------

Rowan watched as one of Juliet’s six friends – Lysandra, he realized – handed Aelin a prop mandolin and ushered her to a small stool. Aelin mimed playing as the mandolin in the orchestra began to play a light, playful melody. Juliet’s friends danced for a phrase –

And then it was his turn.

He danced for her, executing difficult turns and jumps with the ease that seemed to exist whenever she was around.

At one point, Lysandra joined him for a phrase, laughter in her eyes as she mirrored his movements. He gave her a broad smile back as she ran back to her group, leaving him to finish one last circle around the stage, ending with a double _pirouette_ to his knee, one arm extended to his Juliet.

_His Juliet._

For the first time that night, she smiled at him.

\----------

Aelin smiled at Rowan as she stood up, handing the mandolin off to Lysandra. Everyone backed away to give her room, and Rowan made his way to the downstage corner.

It was her turn to dance for him.

The first steps were light and airy, accented with some difficult double _pirouettes_. Gradually, her legs reached higher, and one particular double turn became a triple. She ran back towards Rowan (and the endearing look of awe that he wore on his face), only to turn away and begin a circle around the stage. After her last _saut de chat_ was a series of _piqué arabesques_ –

A series that led her right into Rowan’s waiting arms.

His hands steadied her as she turned her back to him, _bourrée_ ing in a circle as he lifted her up effortlessly, without any _plié_ or preparation.

Always there for her. Always strong when she wasn’t.

The joy bubbled up inside of her, and she bit down a laugh as he lowered her down. As she turned to face him, she rested her hands on his chest and looked up into his eyes, sparkling with the same silent laughter.

_Juliet. Choreography. Focus._

She looked around at the ball guests, who had formed a close circle around them. Suddenly shy, she burst through the crowd and ran offstage with Romeo not too far behind.

\----------

From the wings, Rowan watched Dorian and Aedion cause chaos as Mercutio and Benvolio, dancing through the crowd and getting under Tybalt’s skin. Tybalt, incidentally, was being played by Lorcan tonight.

He suddenly remembered that Aelin told him Lorcan’s nickname for her was “fire-breathing bitch-queen.” _I’m going to make him work_ extra _hard later during our swordfight._

Before he could think too much of his revenge, the stage was empty, and the music was changing.

Aelin walked onstage slowly, lost in thought. He loved that white and gold dress – the way the skirt moved with every step she took, the neckline that rested just barely off her shoulders.

He took a few steps onstage to meet her, and in surprise, she began to run away again.

He held out one hand, asking her to stop.

She stopped. And waited.

Rowan slowly crossed the stage, getting closer and closer to her. He took both of her hands and lifted them to his lips, kissing them softly, reverently.

The look in her eyes told him she couldn’t believe that this was happening.

Neither could he.

\----------

After being interrupted by the Nurse, Lord and Lady Capulet, Paris, and Tybalt, they were finally alone.

Aelin turned just in time to see Rowan tear the mask off of his face and toss it offstage, and she could finally see him, and _gods,_ that _look_ on his face . . .

He was _beautiful._

If she didn’t have a dramatic death scene later, she would have gladly died right there, drowning in the sheer _joy_ of his smile and the adoration in those pine-green eyes.

She ran to him, letting him catch her and turn her in an _arabesque promenade_. Then she was being lifted up and set on his shoulder.

And as Rowan made a circle around the stage, Aelin swore she was flying.

 _He_ made her fly.

Too soon, the scene was over. And too soon, the ballroom began to disappear.

Aelin gave her Romeo one last look before she quickly exited the stage, making for the quick-change area. Lysandra was close on her heels, unhooking Aelin’s ballroom dress for her. Aelin stepped out of it and stepped into the pale pink, chiffon-skirted nightdress; right away, she felt Lysandra’s fingers at her back, hooking the hooks and eyes.

“You’re all set,” Lysandra whispered. Aelin turned around to look at her friend, whose face wore a look of pride – and a conspiratorial grin. Lysandra gave her a quick hug before pushing her back toward the stage.

“Now go get him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE IN IT NOW, KIDS!  
> So last night, one of my fantastic Tumblr followers told me that someone had literally copied and pasted my whole story on Wattpad (I won't name the user here. . .) and was basically claiming it as theirs. I sent them a blunt message and YAY, the person took it down! But for real, it was one of the most hurtful things to ever happen to me. It's August now, which means I've been working on DOYF for a year, and someone just. . . yeah. Not cool.  
> BUT to celebrate, here's the first part of a 3 or 4-chapter Romeo & Juliet! I've been waiting to get to this part ever since I started writing, so I hope you enjoy it as much as me! ^_^  
> You all are awesome and I love you SO much!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	29. Romeo & Juliet - The Balcony Scene

Aelin ascended the backstage stairs to the platform that led to the balcony. As she waited, she watched the light from the front wings fade to a blackout, meaning that the scene of the guests leaving the ball was over.

The orchestra shifted, and the gentle sounds of cellos and flutes met Aelin’s ears. She turned to face the stage, watching as the lights came back up onstage in soft, romantic tones of blue.

Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths. When she opened them again, she was ready.

Quiet organ music signaled her entrance.

Familiar words danced and spun in her head as she stepped onto her balcony, thinking of her Romeo.

_O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?_

_Deny thy father and refuse thy name._

_Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love_

_And I’ll no longer be a Capulet. . ._

_What’s in a name? That which we call a rose_

_By any other name would smell as sweet. . ._

_Romeo, doff thy name,_

_And for that name, which is no part of thee,_

_Take all myself._

\----------

Rowan watched as Aelin stepped out onto the balcony, a thoughtful look on her face. He recognized that look. It was the same one she wore when she had told him to let his heart be _his_ again.

But from the moment she had wept in his arms all those months ago, his heart had stopped belonging to him.

Aelin crossed behind a pillar, trailing her hand over it. She rested her cheek against her hand, letting a giddy, girlish smile cross her lips.

Rowan whispered the words under his breath as he adjusted his cloak. “ _O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!”_

And then it was his turn.

Accompanied by sudden bursts of low instruments, Rowan darted onstage and into a shadow. He did it again, getting right under the balcony this time.

Now, a third time, he made a half-circle around the stage, letting his cloak fan out dramatically. He stopped diagonally to where Aelin stood above, his back to the audience. The music changed, and the horns began that familiar, lilting sequence.

He didn’t move, and neither did she.

He noticed how the blue lighting made Aelin’s eyes even more vibrant than usual, and the beautiful smile that bloomed across her face made them shine.

He felt himself smile back, and he gestured for her to come down from the balcony. The smile never left her face as she darted behind the pillars and towards the stairs that would lead her down to the stage.

Straight to him.

\----------

Aelin couldn’t get down those stairs fast enough.

When she made it down, Rowan caught her by the hand, lacing his fingers with hers and pulling her close to his side. He had held her hand before, but this. . . this was different.

She knew he felt it, too.

She put a hand over her racing heartbeat, lifting Rowan’s hand to her heart briefly before turning away.

Rowan didn’t let her get very far.

He held out an arm to stop her – and then he danced.

\----------

Rowan launched into his solo, using Aelin as his spotting focus for everything he did. First _attitude_ turns, then _tour jetés._

Never before had he felt so free.

He didn’t have to look at her to know she was watching.

Right here, right now - he danced for her alone.

He danced for the infuriating _corps_ girl from the first day.

He danced for the girl who had listened. The girl who, despite everything, had stayed.

He danced for his Giselle. For his Juliet.

He danced for the woman he loved.

When Rowan stopped his _chainée_ turns, he held out his arms to Aelin, beckoning her to him.

The sight of her running to him was something he would never forget.

\----------

Aelin ran to him without restraint, throwing herself into her stepover turn as Rowan’s waiting hands quickly caught her hips, continuing the turn.

She opened her right leg into an _arabesque_ , her head lifted towards the ceiling. Rowan swept her into a short lift before turning her into a low dip on one side, then the other. He knelt and held an arm above his head, and Aelin took his hand, positioning herself to lay on her back across his shoulders.

Then she was flying again, Rowan’s strength a solid, comforting force below her.

He set her down gently, backing up to give her space for the next sequence. Aelin did a turn that Rowan turned into a _promenade_ , then into a low dip. Twice through, then a brief pause.

At the same time, they turned their heads to look at each other. Aelin clamped down on the giddy laughter that bubbled in her chest, and from the twinkling in Rowan’s eyes, the feeling was mutual. She jumped into the next lift, and without missing a beat, Rowan caught her again.

He had never – _would_ never let her down.

She surrendered completely to the choreography, hoping that Rowan would get the message.

_I trust you. With everything that I am._

\----------

From the moment Rowan had locked eyes with Aelin in the ballroom, he had known that the rest of the ballet would, at the very least, go smoothly.

But he hadn’t known it would be like _this._

She wasn’t holding anything back.

Everything she gave him, he gave right back to her. He caught and spun her with that ease and confidence that only seemed to exist when he danced with her.

He lowered himself to one knee, raising his left arm above his head. Aelin took his hand fiercely, lacing her fingers with his and guiding his hand to the back of her neck. He moved his hands to her waist, resting his cheek against her stomach. He felt her hands slide through his hair, then the soft press of her lips to the top of his head.

Then she was gone, making for the stairs in a choreographed bout of nervousness. He held out a hand to stop her and shifted his weight to both knees, and when she turned back around to face him, he opened his arms wide. Aelin grinned, running back to him. She did a _piqué arabesque_ , but instead of keeping her weight balanced, she leaned forward, her weight completely in his hands as he held her hips, lifting her above his head.

He waited for her left hand to fall onto his right shoulder to steady herself – but it never came.

The realization hit him, her not-so-subtle message clear.

_She trusts me._

\----------

Aelin didn’t need to brace herself in that lift. He would never drop her.

Rowan set her down so lightly, she didn’t even feel her right foot touch the ground. He held her gaze as he took her hands, lifting them to his cheek. Aelin rose _en pointe_ , slowly _bourrée_ ing backwards.

He had danced for her; now it was her turn to dance for him.

She felt like she was floating around the stage, her turns and _piqués_ light and easier than they’d ever felt before. Rowan remained in the center of the stage, resting on his knees with a soft, content smile on his face as he watched her.

_Gods, I’d give anything to have him look at me like that all the time._

Aelin danced closer to him, finally taking his hand as she did one last _piqué arabesque_ in front of him, then turning halfway around, feeling his hands supporting her upper back as she lifted her head up, arms outstretched.

Then she was facing him again as he lowered her once before pushing her back up into a deep _arabesque penchée_. She stood in a _tendu_ , waiting for him to rise up from his knees.

_He’s so close._

Then he inched toward her even more – and she, as Juliet, shied away again.

But Aelin knew what was coming.

Rowan moved backwards, ready for her as she came running and jumping into his waiting arms. He lifted her high over his head and spun her twice before setting her down. He ran back to the other side of the stage, and they repeated the same sequence.

Then she ran away from him again, towards the downstage right corner.

But Rowan caught her by the hand.

Slowly, so slowly, she turned to face her Romeo.

Aelin knew she was breathing heavily, but it wasn’t until her eyes fell on the rise and fall of Rowan’s chest under his flowing white shirt that she realized he was just as breathless as she was. Even for the most seasoned and athletic dancers, the balcony _pas de deux_ was particularly exhausting.

But it wasn’t over. There was one thing left.

Rowan still held her hand as he took a step closer, his head inches from hers. Her gaze flitted over his face.

She wanted to remember everything about this moment.

She took in the sight of his silver hair, now long enough to touch his ears. And the way the stage lights made his pine-green eyes more vibrant than ever.

She couldn’t look away from him, not even if she wanted to. And she didn’t want to.

Not with the way he was looking at her right now.

He looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Like even now, he couldn’t believe that she was standing here in front of him.

It was more than she’d ever dreamed of, more than she ever dared to hope for.

His expression softened ever so slightly, even as a quiet intensity flashed across his beautiful eyes.

As a handful of violins ascended in a scale, Aelin closed her eyes. . .

And Rowan’s lips met hers.

She fought to keep her arms away as the choreography dictated – but it was a fight she lost as she fell deeper and deeper into the warmth and joy of his kiss.

She rose up _en pointe_ , one hand on his chest while other drifted up over his shoulder to rest with a featherlight touch on his neck. She felt Rowan melt into her in response, one arm wrapping around her waist while his other hand rose to gently cup her face.

It wasn’t Romeo kissing Juliet anymore. This was Rowan Whitethorn kissing _her_.

Remembering the music, Aelin pulled away and opened her eyes, feeling a single tear slide down her cheek.

The smile Rowan wore on his face was one she would remember for the rest of her life.

She slowly backed away, running back to the staircase and up to the balcony. She reached a hand back down to Rowan as the music swelled to its breathtaking end.

As he reached back up to her, a final thought bloomed through her chest, settling into a corner of her heart that she had thought was lost forever.

_I’m in love with him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter was the first thing I wrote for DOYF, and now we've finally made it!  
> I hope you guys love this chapter as much as I love it, and as much as I love YOU all for the love and support you've given me and this little story <3  
> But don't worry, we're not done yet! ^_^  
> ~ Bellexandra


	30. Between the Lines

Twenty minutes.

That was all the time Rowan had between Act One and Act Two – and he knew just what to do with it.

He needed to write.

With great reluctance, he tore himself away from Juliet’s – no, _Aelin’s_ – balcony and ran upstairs to his dressing room.

He pulled his white, flowing shirt off over his head, quickly hanging it back up on the wardrobe rack. He picked his backpack up and set it on his chair, rummaging through it and tossing irrelevant things aside.

“Come on, I know it was in here yesterday,” he muttered to himself, taking his sweatshirt out of the bag next –

_Thud._

He looked down at his feet to see exactly what he was looking for.

His journal.

Rowan bent to pick it up. As he opened it, he realized he was holding it backwards and upside down.

Because the corner of a piece of paper was sticking out from what was apparently a hidden pocket in the back cover of the journal.

His heart pounded as he pulled out the folded paper, opened it, and began to read.

 ~

_Who knows what will have happened by the time you get here? Or maybe you’ll never write in this journal and you’ll never see this._

_Which would be a problem, because then you’d never know how I feel._

_I hated you, you know. From the moment you walked into class with that condescending little smirk on your stupidly handsome face. You reminded me so much of who I was and what I lost, and I hated it. I had lost everything – and then you came along._

_And then you said two words to me that first partnering class. Do you remember?_

_“Trust me.”_

_Gods, you had no idea what you were asking of me._

_But despite everything. . . I started to._

_I eventually trusted you with every single one of my broken, fractured pieces, and you helped put me back together. Now, as I’m writing this, I’m the person that I want to be – because of you._

_And in case you were wondering, I still trust you. I trust you more than anyone or anything in this world._

_There was always one thing I held back from you, though._

_My heart._

_But now, I’m trusting you with it. The last piece I have left to give of myself._

_Do with it what you like, but it’s yours. It’s been yours since the first time we danced together._

_Back in the fall, you said you wanted to know everything about me. Well, Rowan Whitethorn, there’s one more thing you need to know._

_Now all you have to do is ask me what it is._

_Merry Christmas,_

_Aelin_

 ~

Rowan’s vision blurred about halfway through her letter.

Christmas.

_Christmas._

He plopped down into a chair as it hit him.

The journal hadn’t been Aelin’s Christmas present to him.

It had been her _heart._

She had told him to write his own story.

And she had already put herself within its pages.

Rowan smiled and swiped at his eyes. He grabbed a towel and lightly dabbed at his face before patting the sweat off of his upper body. He took a deep breath. There were still two acts to go, after all. He put his Act Two tunic on, leaving it unhooked for now to let his back cool off. Then came his sweatpants and his dance boots; it was important to keep his muscles warm.

 _She deserves a Romeo at the top of his game,_ he thought to himself.

With one last look in the mirror, he headed back downstairs, silently counting down the minutes until he could dance with Aelin again.

\----------

Aelin sat in her dressing room, already changed back into her teal dress from Act One. She wore sweatpants underneath the dress and her warmup boots on her currently-bare feet.

In her hands was Rowan’s Christmas present to her.

She scanned the pages and the highlighted text. After the way he had just kissed her – gods above, Rowan had _kissed her_ – she couldn’t help but wonder if she had missed something. A hidden message, maybe.

Like the note she had left in his journal. . .

“Dancers, ten minutes till the top of Act Two, ten minutes to Act Two,” came Amren’s voice over the backstage monitor.

Aelin only had one scene in this entire act, so she wasn’t worried as she kept searching the words of Shakespeare, hoping to find words of Rowan’s instead.

By now, she had read it so many times that she knew which lines were highlighted already.

 

_Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!_

_For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. . ._

 

_Can I go forward when my heart is here?_

 

_It is my lady, O, it is my love!_

_O, that she knew she were!_

 

“Oh, Rowan,” she whispered as the highlighted words began to make sense.

 

_Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized. . ._

 

_Forgetting any other home but this. . ._

 

_Heaven is here, where Juliet lives. . ._

 

Aelin smiled as tears burned behind her eyes. Rowan hadn’t been trying to tell her that he was Romeo; he was using Romeo’s words to tell her how he felt about _her_. She just hadn’t seen it. “You were trying to tell me all along, weren’t you?”

She pictured him back in December, poring over the play and trying to pick the lines he wanted her to see. It had probably been as agonizing for him as writing the note had been for her.

Wait.

_Has he found the note yet?_

No. If he had, he would have come asking.

Wouldn’t he?

“Five minutes to places, five minutes –”

Aelin practically leapt out of her chair, setting the copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ on the counter. She needed to see him. She just –

_Is this what love feels like? Wanting to be around him without knowing why?_

Closing the door behind her, she made her way down the hall to the stairwell. After one flight, she caught sight of a familiar, silver-haired head, whose back was exposed by his still-undone tunic.

“Wait!” she called.

Rowan stopped, his back still to her.

“Your – your hooks,” she explained a bit sheepishly.

“Ah,” he replied, still facing away.

She lifted her hands tentatively to the row of hooks and eyes, starting with the bottom one. The way the costume was made, the backs of her fingers touched his back every time she hooked one.

He was so still, she wasn’t sure if he was still breathing.

Or if _she_ was, for that matter.

She finally made it to the top hook at the base of his neck. As she hooked it together, his hand suddenly covered hers. He gently tugged her hand, pulling her around to stand in front of him.

Words failed Aelin. Especially with him looking at her like this.

“Thank you.” Rowan’s green eyes never left hers as he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back of her fingers. Then he laced his fingers with hers, and they descended the rest of the stairs together.

When they made it backstage, Rowan gave her hand one last squeeze. “I’ll see you in a few minutes?” he said quietly.

Aelin nodded, giving him an encouraging smile as she watched him join Aedion and Dorian with a few warmup jumps.

And she began counting down the minutes until she could dance with him again.

\----------

The second act was a lot more work for Rowan.

He had made it through the first marketplace scene, which ended with Romeo, Mercutio, and Benvolio teasing Juliet’s Nurse, there to give Romeo a letter from Juliet.

That led to where Rowan was now.

He entered Friar Laurence’s cell, showing the Friar the letter. With a kind smile, the Friar smiled, nodding his consent.

Next came the Nurse, who gave the Friar a low curtsy, gesturing that her young mistress was on her way. Rowan stood waiting by the Friar.

The breath left his lungs again when she appeared, running in with steps light as air.

Aelin took the Friar’s hand and curtsied low. Rowan stepped forward with a hand outstretched, and she took it with a brilliant smile. They knelt before the Friar together, waiting as he blessed their marriage.

_Marriage._

Rowan’s thoughts drifted as he waited for his next cue.

_Here I am, marrying Juliet onstage in front of a full house._

_What would it be like to actually get married?_

_What would it be like to marry_ Aelin?

Rowan’s gaze shot to Aelin, whose turquoise eyes were pensive behind her smile.

_Is she wondering the same thing?_

He stood up with the music, helping Aelin to her feet. He took in every detail of her face as he leaned down, pressing his lips to hers once again.

He had already kissed her once, but this time – it still felt like the world tilted under his feet. He didn’t know if she would ever kiss him outside of this ballet, so he savored everything about it. The tickle of her false eyelashes on his cheek, the softness of her lips, the way they curved into a little smile against his.

Rowan still had a difficult remainder of the act, but as the Nurse pulled his Juliet away, he knew that her kiss could get him through the rest of this act.

And her presence alone, just knowing that she was a few steps away. . . _that_ could get him through anything.

\----------

Aelin stood in the wings, watching as Rowan picked up a fencing foil from the stage floor, a few feet from where Dorian lay dead as Mercutio.

Rowan turned to face Lorcan, tonight’s Tybalt, and she caught sight of the blistering wrath that blazed in his eyes.

It took her by surprise.

Aelin realized that had never seen him truly _angry_ before. Frustrated, yes; annoyed, yes – never this angry. But the way he was going after Lorcan, she figured she was getting a glimpse; a sliver of the bitter, broken man he had been after Lyria’s death.

She knew that feeling all too well.

A small part of her wondered if he remembered what she had told him about Lorcan, about him crowning her the “fire-breathing bitch-queen.”

She could certainly fight her own battles when it came to Lorcan Salvaterre.

But if Rowan was making it extra hard for Lorcan on _her_ behalf. . .

Well, she wasn't about to complain.


	31. Romeo & Juliet, Act Three - Part One

One more act to go.

Aelin shrugged off her jacket, yoga pants, and dance boots, leaving her dressed once more in the pale pink nightgown from Act One. She brushed the back section of her hair one more time, setting her brush on the backstage shelf labeled with her name. For the rest of the ballet, half her hair would be down; it might as well be tangle-free before Rowan starting tossing her around –

_Rowan._

He was already onstage, dressed in a slightly different flowing white shirt, one that laced at the top just below the dip of his collarbone. He was going through a section of choreography when green eyes caught hers, and she froze, trapped in the memories of his lips on hers.

She forced her attention to her own warmup, rolling through her feet in her pointe shoes before going into a bit of her own choreography. She didn’t ask Rowan to go over anything, and he didn’t ask her to, either.

They didn’t need to.

Rowan slowly approached her, holding his hands out. She set her hands in his, and he gently pulled her to him, close enough to lean down and rest his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes, breathing in his solid strength.

“Together?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt him inhale to respond, then –

“Places!” Amren hissed from the side of the stage. “Places for the top of Act Three!”

Aelin opened her eyes as she felt Rowan straighten, though he still held her hands, taking them both toward the prop bed that was upstage center. As Aelin walked around to the side opposite him, he sat on the bed and adjusted his position, settling onto his back with an arm open to her. Aelin crawled over to him, lying on her left side and resting her head on his shoulder, laying her right hand lightly on his chest.

_Am I the only one who notices how perfectly we fit together?_

She heard the audience on the other side of the curtain gradually fall silent. There was applause as the conductor reappeared – then silence again.

Rowan’s fingers began combing through the ends of her hair, and she sighed contentedly. She whispered into his chest, falling into the rhythm of his breath.

\----------

Rowan looked down at Aelin as the music began, silently savoring the weight of her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest.

He heard a soft voice, feeling her breath dance over his chest, over the heart that belonged to her.

“ _Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day_ ,” she whispered. He smiled, recognizing the lines from the play. “ _Believe me, love, it was the nightingale._ ”

 _Love._ His heart leapt at the endearment, even though the words were Shakespeare’s and not hers. He lifted his left hand and grazed his fingertips down her forearm. She tilted her head up, and he smiled at the joy that lit her eyes. He mentally jumped forward in the play, remembering one of his favorite lines that he had highlighted for her.

“ _Heaven is here,_ ” he whispered back, holding her gaze, “ _where Juliet lives._ ”

The lights faded to black, but even though he could no longer see her, he felt her smile against his chest.

* * *

As the music began, Rowan felt the light fade up from his left side, meant to mimic the rising sun and the beginning of Romeo’s banishment to Mantua.

He slowly roused himself as though from slumber, lightly slipping out of Aelin’s embrace. He made his way to the window, picking up his cloak from a chair on the way. He took a glance outside, then turned back to where his Juliet still slept.

He went back to her, taking a moment to look at the way the soft golden light briefly cast a glow on her peaceful face before the window curtain swished closed. He lightly set a hand on her hair, bending down to kiss her forehead.

As he turned back to the window, he heard a soft rustling behind him. He paused, waiting for the movement to stop.

Then he turned around to face his Juliet for the last time.

She stood diagonally downstage from him, a mirror of their positions in the balcony scene. But this scene was so much different.

He knew that much. Aelin knew it, too.

In the play, this would be the last time they would ever see each other alive.

The world of the story would tear them apart.

That is, if that _look_ in Aelin’s eyes right now didn’t tear _him_ apart first.

\----------

How would she dance this?

Aelin thought about it as she remained on the bed, waiting for her musical cue.

_As Juliet, I’ve just spent my wedding night with Romeo, with my husband. Now. . . now I’m going to lose him._

_I’ll never see him again._

It wasn’t very long before Rowan replaced Romeo in her thoughts.

_I love him. I love Rowan._

_What if. . . what if this was the last time I would ever see him? What if after this, I would never dance with Rowan again?_

The thought sent a wave of desperation crashing into her, tears burning behind her eyes.

Then Rowan turned to look at her, his green eyes filled with a sorrow that she never wanted to see there again.

She ran to him, grabbing his arms and folding them around her. She pulled back slightly, tugging his cloak off of his shoulders and leading him into the bedroom _pas de deux._

\----------

The choreography of the bedroom _pas de deux_ echoed parts of the balcony scene, but now, they were at a completely different part of the story.

Juliet was delaying the inevitable: Romeo’s departure.

Of course, as himself, Rowan didn’t want to leave Aelin’s side, either. He wanted to stay here, on this stage, in these moments with Aelin for as long as he possibly could.

The choreography began with slow, melancholy movements as the lovers grieved the dawn and their impending separation. To Rowan, the bedroom _pas_ was meant to focus on Juliet. Since she would carry most of Act III, it was his job to set her up for success, to give her the emotional push into the acting work she had left.

So many movements in this _pas_ ended not with pretty, photograph-worthy pictures, but instead with desperate, clutching embraces. Every time Aelin flung her arms around him, he held on tighter, hating that he had to eventually push her away.

Her turquoise eyes blazed as he spun her into a _promenade_ , then she gripped his hands and shoved them away, her grief flaring into anger. His heart lurched, even though he knew it was all acting.

_This is acting._

_This isn’t real._

Rowan watched Aelin as she pushed away from him into a _tour jeté,_ collapsing to the floor. He rushed to her and lifted her back onto her feet. Her hands cupped the sides of his face, and she pressed frantic, fluttering kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his forehead –

He stopped her, grabbing her by her shoulders.

Those beautiful eyes went wide, and the two stray tears sliding down her cheeks did not escape his notice.

He cradled Aelin’s head gently, his heart beating fast as he leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a gentle farewell kiss.

As he left her to pick up his cloak from the floor, he looked back at her one last time.

She did not look back.

\----------

Aelin didn’t look back as the music continued.

She felt the Nurse wrap a shawl around her shoulders, but Aelin stepped away and let it fall to the ground.

She was still conscious of the choreography, of everything she had to do, but she barely had to think about it. The moment she had replaced Romeo with Rowan in her thoughts, it all became real.

She barely paid attention to Nehemia entering as Lady Capulet, a mourning veil over her face. Lord Capulet followed, and together, they demanded that she marry Paris.

She turned away from her parents and sought help from the Nurse, who turned her around and lightly nudged her backwards. Aelin backed up – into a pair of waiting hands.

Chaol. Paris.

With a sharp inhale, she felt herself tense. _He’s not the man I love._

The music grew more frantic as she pushed away from him and headed first for Nehemia, for Lady Capulet, pleading with her. When that didn’t work, she went back to the Nurse.

The Nurse didn’t even look at her as she brushed Aelin away.

Lastly, Aelin tried Lord Capulet, begging him on her knees. He threw her hands off of him with such ferocity that she fell to the ground.

The only one who offered her help to get up was Paris.

_Absolutely not._

She pushed herself back up and ran back to her bed, hiding under the sheets. When Lady Capulet pulled Aelin out, everything became a blur as both Capulets and the Nurse swarmed around her, trying to convince her that _their_ plan for her life was the best one.

Aelin burst out of the commotion, her hands on her ears as the music’s pace calmed back down.

She took a few slow steps towards Chaol, slowly raising her gaze to meet his eyes. Indignantly, she rose _en pointe_ and _bourréed_ around him, ending up at the other side of the stage, her back to everyone else.

The music flared up again dramatically, a similar melody to the famous “Dance of the Knights” of Act I. She felt Lord Capulet grab her arm, whirling her around to face him. When all she did was shake her head defiantly, he gave her a hard stage-combat slap, sending her to the ground. The Nurse began to rush over, but Lord Capulet sent her away. He gave Aelin one last angry, warning look as he, Chaol, Nehemia, and the Nurse all exited the stage.

There was silence.

And Aelin was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So to be quite honest, the past month or so has been really hard for me. I wasn't feeling inspired, and I didn't even feel like reading anything - which, for me, is unheard of. But after a conversation with a dear friend, I've made some decisions, and my life is moving in an exciting direction!  
> All that said, WE'RE BACK! I tried to make Act III one chapter, but y'all. . . I couldn't. It's massive. Too many things to say, too many feels to get out there. So here's part one of two! Enjoy! ^_^  
> Thank you all so much for your continued love and support! It truly means the world to me!  
> ~ Bellexandra


	32. Romeo & Juliet - Act Three, Part Two

Act II had been mostly him, but Act III . . .

Act III was all her.

Rowan stood in the wings, watching and wondering what she would do.

Because unlike any moment in _Giselle_ or _Nutcracker_ , she was now completely alone on the stage of the Rifthold Opera House.

It was _hers._

He watched as Aelin shifted on the ground. She rose to her knees and reached a hand in the direction of the Capulets’ exit, her expression one of utter hopelessness as she sank back to her knees. She lowered her arm slowly, tension evident in her fingers as she wrung her hands together.

She looked like she was about to cry.

She stood up slowly, running a few steps towards her bedroom door, stopping when she realized that her efforts to plead with her parents would be futile. Her gaze wandered as she hugged herself, the knuckles of her fingers white.

Then she spotted the shawl, crumpled and forgotten on the ground.

His Juliet sank to her knees, picking up the fabric and running it along her cheek, closing her eyes as she remembered Romeo. As she remembered _him_.  
She stood again, letting the shawl fall from her fingers as she made her way to the bed. Turning around the face the audience fully, she sat on its edge.

The music began to grow.

It began like the bedroom _pas_ , but it quickly became a theme all her own.

A melody for Juliet alone.

Rowan watched and listened as the French horns soared above the rest of the music, wrapping their melody around her. He had never seen anything like this; he could _see_ the music filling every muscle in her body, relaxing her face into an expression of steely resolve.

He knew that expression.

It sent a thrill through his heart.

Aelin wasn’t playing Juliet anymore. She never had been.

She _was_ Juliet.

She rose from the bed, the embodiment of the music that surrounded her. She picked up her shawl from the ground, holding it high above her as she arched into a _port de bras_ back, one leg extended in a _tendu_. She ran in a large, elegant circle around the stage once before exiting into the wings – in fact, he realized, she exited into the wing right behind the one where he stood.

He held his breath as she came into the edge of his view.

Her breaths were quick as she passed him to stand at the wing’s edge for her next entrance. He didn’t dare touch her or make his presence known out of fear of breaking her concentration.

The lights slowly came up onstage to reveal the character of Friar Laurence again, pacing in prayer before going into an onstage archway.

But Rowan wasn’t watching him.

He was looking at the way the onstage lights cast a dim, amber glow around Aelin’s silhouette. The shadows accented the lines of her long, lean frame, the muscles of her back visible above the top of her costume before she tossed that beautiful gold hair back over her shoulder.

It reminded him of that night in the studio when she had told him about Sam, when the warm lamplight had resembled wildfire around her.

The first night he had gotten a glimpse of her heart of fire.

She went back out onstage, and Rowan watched her every movement. The desperate clutching of her shawl as she pleaded with the Friar for help. The uncertain flickering of her gaze between the Friar and the potion vial he offered to her. The way she held it away from her at arm’s length as though it might bite as the scene shifted back to Juliet’s bedroom.

During especially brilliant performances, Rowan had heard of dancers who couldn’t remember moments or even entire sections from their time onstage – the line between them and their characters was nearly invisible.

He wondered if that was what he was watching. If she would remember any of it.

Then of course, he wasn’t without bias; if he thought back to every time he had seen Aelin dance, he couldn’t recall a single time that _wasn’t_ brilliant.

Now was no different.

She wasn’t even really dancing, and he still couldn’t take his eyes off of her as the Capulets reentered.

Not during her melancholy duet with Chaol, not when everyone else left the stage again. Not as she warred with herself over whether to take the potion or not. Not as she collapsed to the floor as the potion took effect and she struggled to pull herself back onto the bed.

Before he knew it, the stage went black.

Rowan heard the soft _whir_ of the fly system as the crypt set came down in the darkness.

He ran his hands through his hair, watching as the lights came back up to a dim, eerie blue and revealed the Capulets dressed in black cloaks. They stood around Juliet, who laid supposedly dead on  A small contigent of ensemble dancers processed across the stage, dressed in black and carrying electric candles.

It was a dark, tragic scene – and the one he was about to enter.

Rowan fastened his own dark cloak with a clasp at the neck. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

When he opened them again, he slipped onstage into the shadows, joining the scene to mourn the death of the woman he loved more than anything in the world.

\----------

Lysandra stood in the wings, watching Rowan slide into the onstage darkness and hide behind a set piece. The moment he disappeared, she pulled her phone out from its hiding spot in the bodice of her costume. Making sure the brightness was at its lowest, she opened the camera app and starting recording.

She had done the same thing for the balcony and bedroom _pas de deux_. After seeing the way they had reacted to each other in the ballroom scene, she had a feeling that they might want to remember tonight for a long time.

She felt Aedion standing next to her. “Got a good angle?” he whispered.

Lysandra nodded, giving him a sign to hush as Rowan emerged into the light from his hiding place.

_Here we go._

His back to Lysandra, Rowan leaned on the stone slab as though it were the only thing holding him up. She could feel the grief rolling off of him in waves as he pushed himself off and away from the set piece.

He took a couple of steps further, shedding his cloak before Chaol noticed him. Chaol rose from his knees and made to attack Rowan, but Rowan was faster – he pulled the prop dagger from his belt and stabbed him.

As Chaol fell to the ground, Rowan dropped the dagger and rushed to Aelin. He clutched one of her hands to his face, but when he let it go, it fell limply back to her side. Then tried both of her arms, but to no avail. Finally, he slung one of her arms over his shoulder, his other arm wrapped around her waist as he dragged her body off of the slab she laid upon.

As he turned and carried her across the stage, Lysandra felt a pricking behind her eyes. She hadn’t known Rowan Whitethorn very long, but she knew he was a fantastic dancer. She also knew that he was usually collected and levelheaded. But now – now, she felt like she was seeing a side of him he rarely showed anyone.

 _Except for Aelin,_ she thought quietly as she continued to watch. He attempted to manipulate Aelin into some lifts, but it was no use.

Finally, Aelin’s body fell back to the ground. Grasping one of her hands, Rowan dragged the body of his beloved Juliet across the stage floor. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t pretty.

But _gods above_ , it was the most vulnerable she had ever seen him. She felt tears slide down her cheeks.

He tried picking Aelin up twice more into some lifts, but both times, she wound up back on the ground. Finally, he cradled her with one arm around her back and the other under her knees.

Rowan tipped his head to the sky, and Lysandra loosed a shuddering breath. His eyes were screwed shut, his mouth open in a silent, anguished, broken cry.

It was a picture of complete, utter, shattering grief.

He was falling apart before her very eyes. She didn’t even know that was possible.

He carried Aelin back to her resting place, setting her back down with heartbreaking gentleness. Then he pulled a vial from his belt – the poison.

Rowan bent over Aelin, pressing his lips to hers in one last kiss as the music seemed to shudder. Then he uncorked the vial, lifted it to his lips, and drank.

Lysandra watched as Rowan’s body seized, the vial clattering to the ground. He caressed Aelin’s hand once more before he slid down the steps. He rolled to his back, his hands outstretched over his head –

Then his eyes closed.

Lysandra exhaled as the music shifted, her focus going to Aelin.

Aelin’s fingers twitched. She ran a hand across her forehead and eyes as she awoke, slowly pushing herself up to a sitting position. She looked around, her gaze finally landing on the two giant angels that loomed above her. Startled, she pushed herself off of the bed and wandered frantically around the stage.

She came across Paris first.

She rolled him onto his back, then drew back with a hand to her chest. She bent over and picked up the dagger, realizing that he was dead. She dropped the dagger in bewilderment, crossing back across the stage. She turned around –

And her gaze landed on Romeo’s lifeless body.

Lysandra held her breath as her best friend slowly approached the man she loved.

Aelin knelt beside him, laying her hands on his chest. She shook him lightly at first, then more and more frantically. She bent forward and kissed him, suddenly recoiling with a hand to her lips. _Poison._ Realization dawned on her face as she wrapped her arms around him and lifted his upper body into an embrace, clutching him desperately. Her face began to crumple as she set him back down.

She was shaking.

Then as the music built, Aelin opened her mouth in a silent, gut-wrenching scream of agony, her face twisted in grief, tears shining on her cheeks.

Lysandra’s vision blurred, and she suddenly became aware of the steady stream of tears spilling from her own eyes as she continued to record.

Aelin shoved herself up from the ground, searching for the vial. She found it quickly, but when she lifted it to her lips, she realized it was empty.

Then she remembered the dagger.

She lifted it off the floor from beside Paris’s body, brushing her hair away from her face. She grasped the dagger –

And stabbed herself in the stomach.

Her mouth fell open from the pain as she collapsed in a heap, clutching her stomach with one hand as the dagger clattered to the floor. Weakly, she began trying to push herself across the floor with one arm and her legs, trying to get back to where her beloved’s body lay. Lysandra could see her strength fading quickly as she made it to the bed, slowly climbing on top of it.

She crawled to the other side, lying on her stomach as she reached one hand over to Romeo’s body, her fingertips grazing his chest.

The agony in Aelin’s expression brought a fresh wave of tears to Lysandra’s eyes.

Aelin’s body seized once more before she rolled onto her back, arms outstretched over her head as she closed her eyes.

Lysandra swiped the tears away with one hand, whispering the words to herself as the lights dimmed and the curtains began to close.

“ _There never was a story of more woe_

_Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I've got Part Two finished already! ^_^  
> Guys, I just love this ballet so much, and writing it with Aelin and Rowan has sent me on such an emotional ride. Particularly the last scene in the crypt.   
> To give you a visual of this heart-wrenching scene, here's one to watch and weep over:   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wt8Z8uQFV14  
> BUT WAIT - the story's not over yet.  
> Ohhh, no. :)  
> ~ Bellexandra


	33. Later

When she could tell that the blue light was up, Aelin opened her eyes and sat up. She pushed herself off of the bed and stood up in preparation for the curtain call –

And almost ran straight into Rowan’s chest.

She made a point not to look up into his eyes as she faced the curtain. Quite frankly, she was terrified of what she would see.

She was terrified it wouldn’t be what she wanted.

And she was terrified it _would_ be.

She was still breathing heavily, and everything seemed a bit hazy. Her body seemed disconnected from her mind, running on autopilot while her thoughts spun wildly.

_What. . . what just happened?_

She felt him stand next to her, putting his right arm around her waist. He took her left hand in his, but to her surprise, he lifted their clasped hands to his chest.

Aelin felt Rowan’s heart pounding, but it was that steady rhythm that reconnected her thoughts with her body, pulling her out of the whirlwind of Juliet.

He was always the one who put her back together.

“I’m here,” he whispered as the curtains parted once more. She took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t hear how shaky it was.

Aelin’s eyes stung as she took in the thunderous applause, and as her eyes adjusted to the light, she realized that everyone was on their feet.

For _them._

She and Rowan bowed their heads once, twice, before the curtains closed again. Rowan guided her to the wings as they awaited the next set of bows. As the curtains reopened, the _corps_ took their bows, followed by the mandolin dancers, Juliet’s friends, the Montagues, Capulets, the Friar, and the Nurse, then the three Harlots – which included Lysandra. Following them were Lorcan, Aedion, and Dorian.

Aelin cheered and clapped from the wings, finally letting her face break into a smile. Then it was her and Rowan’s turn once again.

As they reappeared, the audience’s cheers seemed reinvigorated. Rowan led her forward, and she gave a low curtsy, lowering to one knee with one hand going over her heart. She stepped back and turned toward Rowan.

His green eyes shone as they extended their arms towards each other in acknowledgment and gratitude.

Aelin sank to one knee again and bowed her head, but this time, she put both hands over her heart. When she stood up, Rowan stepped back to her, taking both of her hands and lifting them to his lips before guiding her forward for another bow.

Eudora entered from the wings with a bouquet of red roses and handed them to Aelin, one arm wrapping around her in a tight hug. “Absolutely magnificent,” she whispered, pulling back and gesturing for the two of them to bow again. After Aelin led the orchestra conductor onto the stage to bow, the curtain closed, the applause still near-deafening.

To Aelin’s surprise, a stagehand appeared and drew the inner curtain backward just a bit. Eudora motioned to Lorcan, Dorian, and Aedion, ushering them back out in front of the curtain for another bow, to the audience’s delight.

A slight pressure on her waist reminded her that Rowan hadn’t left her side. She looked up into his face – that strikingly handsome face, the green eyes that looked at her with such tenderness that words failed her.

“Our turn,” he whispered, his lips quirked into a half-smile that sent her heart tumbling like a pebble falling down a cliff.

All Aelin could do was nod as he gently guided her back out in front of the curtain, where they were greeted by even louder applause and cheers. They bowed once more before Rowan led her back behind the curtain, and the applause slowly faded to the rustling and chatter of the audience starting to leave.

\----------

From the moment he had taken her hand before the curtain calls, Rowan sensed something was up. He wasn’t sure if something was wrong, exactly, but . . . he had felt like he was literally pulling her out of the abyss of grief and tragedy that they had both just danced through.

Then again, they had both lived through tragedies of their own.  _A tragedy that led me to her,_ he thought.

She had taken her bows with a small smile on her face, but she seemed a little dazed.

_What was going on?_

Once the curtain calls were over, Rowan finally stepped in front of her, gently taking both of her hands in his. “Talk to me. Please,” he said, low enough so only she could hear. “What is it?”

She blinked a few times, then exhaled sharply. She looked up at him, the light back in her eyes. “What in the hell just happened?”

 _We danced together, I got to kiss you, and I fell in love with you,_ he wanted to say. “We did it,” he said instead, not bothering to hide the pride in his voice.

She shook her head. “No.” A smile spread across her face, and it almost knocked him over. “We did it _together._ ”

Rowan smiled back down at her, his thumbs caressing the backs of her hands. “Aelin, can I. . . can I ask you something?”

Her smile faded, and her expression became unreadable. “Anything.”

He took a breath and opened his mouth to speak. . .

\----------

Aelin’s heart pounded, thundering in her ears.

_Is he going to ask what I think he’s going to ask?_

_That means he found my note. He read my note!_

He opened his mouth to speak again –

“Aelin!”

Lysandra came barrelling over, throwing her arms around her best friend. “You were _incredible_ ,” she said breathlessly, squeezing Aelin tightly. When she pulled back, Aedion and Dorian had made their way over.

Aedion hugged her next, dipping his head to her ear. “Your mom and dad would have been so proud,” he whispered. Tears pricked Aelin’s eyes at his words, and she hid a shuddering breath as he pulled back.

Dorian pulled her over next, then Chaol, then Nehemia. Their words of love and pride echoed in every corner of Aelin’s exhausted body, finally settling into her heart.

“Hey, Romeo!”

Aelin looked up from Nehemia’s embrace to see her friends all crowding around Rowan. They hugged him like they hugged her, exclaiming how amazing his performance was. She stood there for a moment watching them, and she felt herself break into a grin.

All of them were her family. They had all adopted each other over the years, and now. . . now they had officially adopted Rowan, too.

Aelin padded back over to them. “Come here, you crazy kids!” She threw her arms back around Rowan’s waist, and one by one, she felt everyone join them in a big group hug, her and Rowan at the center.

“I love you guys,” Aelin said, only loud enough for their group to hear.

\----------

Rowan stood there with one arm around Aelin, another around Dorian, with Chaol, Lysandra, and Nehemia in the mix, too. The stage was still a bit chaotic with dancers and stagehands congratulating one another, but here, with these wonderful, talented, crazy, extraordinary people and their arms all strewn around each other, a thought nestled itself into Rowan’s mind.

_I’m home._

He heard Eudora’s laugh. “All right, everyone!” Their group hug broke apart as Eudora came over to them. “I think you’ve all more than earned your after-party.”

Elide appeared beside her, and to Rowan’s surprise, Lorcan came up next to her, subtly taking her hand. “You’ve got to do this again tomorrow, and I’m sure you’d rather not dance in sweaty, unwashed costumes, right?”

Aedion looked at Dorian and made a face. “Yeah, I’m not wearing that one’s sweat!”

“Back at you, brother,” Dorian laughed.

“Shower off and get changed, then you can all enjoy a well-earned celebration, okay?” Eudora’s silver eyes seemed to pass between him and Aelin before she walked away. _Is there anything that woman can’t sense?_

As their group began to disperse, Rowan didn’t move much.

And, he noticed, neither did Aelin.

She finally turned to him. “You had something to ask me?”

Rowan’s heart skipped a beat, remembering the words he had just read earlier in the evening.

_Well, Rowan Whitethorn, there’s one more thing you need to know._

_Now all you have to do is ask me what it is._

But he didn’t want to ask her while they were sweaty and fresh off of a grueling performance. He shook his head. “Later,” he said, giving her a small smile.

\---------

Aelin did her best to calm the pounding in her chest. “I’ll see you later, then,” she said. Before she could think twice about it, she rose up _en pointe_ and lightly pressed her lips to his cheek. When she stepped back, she savored the quiet joy that shone in his green eyes. Then she turned and headed back upstairs to her dressing room.

Later.

They’d talk later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, October punched and kicked me all over the place, ending with mold that made my apartment unlivable (after 17 days without A/C in 90-degree weather; thanks for nothing, landlord), which resulted in having to find a new place to live and move out in the span of a week. But I also got to go to one of Sarah J. Maas's Kingdom of Ash tour events, which was so much fun (if you still haven't read it yet, DO; KoA is INCREDIBLE).  
> "Dreaming On Your Feet" is so special to me, and the fact that it's now the most-kudo'd Aelin/Rowan fic here on Ao3?!? Guys, that makes me want to cry.  
> I love you all so, so very much, and your continued love and support means so much to me!  
> ~ Bellexandra


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